It’s going to be okay.
You are going to be okay.

When my little girl was a little girl, her sweet mother held her tight, rubbed her hair, kissed her feverish forehead.

“Your body just has to work through the yucky stuff.”

That’s what the fever is.
Proof of life.
A crucible of healing.

“I’m sorry that you feel queasy. Your body just wants to get rid of the sickness. You only have to let it out and let it go.”

You can’t get better until whatever is worse gets out, goes away.
That’s what this is.
That’s all this is.

We see ten thousand ugly things.
Will we identify with each one?
Will we hate them?

Or will we work for one beautiful thing, whatever it is?
And then another?
And then another?

What is the road?

Let’s wash off the throwup and get you some fresh pajamas.
I will put the sheets in the dryer.
I know you must be tired.
You’ve got sleeping, and healing, and growing to do.

It’s going to be okay.
You are going to be okay.

My little girl is a mother now. She has her own little one.
She knows how to hold him when he doesn’t feel well, when his tiny perfect body needs to work and heal and get rid of what is not perfect, not healing, not working.

Life goes on. My grandson will be a grandpa someday.
Like me.
Better than me.

Because good things grow with love and care and time.
They get better.
That’s how we know they’re good.

Love and care and time.
That’s what we need.
That’s what we have.

And we have each other.

I am here with you.
I will hug you and hold you.
I will remind you that you are more than what you are getting over, more than what you are going through.
You are more than you know, little one.

You are a perfect soul in an imperfect moment.
No wonder it feels wrong.

But you are not wrong.
You’re just full.

So give me all of it.
Let the sickness and the fear and the anger and the hate go.
Your body, your soul, does not want it.
It is not who you are.

It is not who we are.
It’s okay for it to come out.
It has to.

It’s going to be okay.
You are going to be okay.

I don’t know why it’s been such a long road.
I don’t know why prodigals have to take the long way home.

But home is still there.
Still here.
We are on our way now.

Love is the road.

So give me all of it.
Let everything that is not love out.
It needs to come out.
It’s needed to for a long time now.

How long has there been a fever, a secret stomach ache?

Nobody can live with all that inside.

There is so much to do and so far to go. I know.
But I am here with you, little one.

Lots of us are here.
Nobody does anything alone.

It’s going to be okay.
You are going to be okay.

Why have these days come?
When will we be done with the ugliness?

Not too much longer.

Nothing good ever ends.
Nothing bad ever lasts.
That’s how we can tell.

Life goes on.

Nature is good at infinity.
Do you want to count grains of sand, blades of grass?
Can we count the stars?

How big is love, mercy, truth? How much? How many?

There are ten thousand ugly things.
But beauty speaks in infinities.

How many apples can you get by planting one seed?
What if you plant those seeds?
And those seeds?
And those?

What will we plant along the way?

Love and care and time.

Lots of good stories begin with “it came to pass.”
Maybe they all do.

Why did these days come?
They came to pass.

They came to go away.
We can’t go on until we get them out and let them go, little one.
That’s what they need to do.

What do we need to do?

We need to see it.
We need to see it so we don’t do it any more.

There is so much beauty on the other side of this ugliness.

So let’s get through it.
Let’s get moving.

Love is the road.

It’s okay. You are okay.
You are beautiful.