My mom texts me scripture when she’s worried about me.
Psalm 147:3 last week…He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. And then, a little longer one from Matthew, something about coming to God heavy laden and finding rest for your soul, His yoke easy, His burden light. Followed by, in her own words…God is in control, Jess. I pray you find peace, strength and rest in Him.
I know exactly what she’s doing…she’s worried I’ve lost my spiritual standing. She’s been worried for a while now. She’s worried that somewhere between the divorce and the second marriage and the career pivot and the Substack where I say fuck more than a good church girl probably should, I’ve drifted from the foundation she and my dad built under me in our small Baptist church in South Carolina. She sends the verses and spiritual memes on Instagram the way other moms send soup when you’re sick. It’s love, wearing the only existentially-worried-for-your-soul language she has without trying to be too overwhelming for her already overwhelmed adult daughter.
I’ve not been successful yet in convincing her…no matter how many times I’ve tried…that I haven’t drifted from God. I feel like after the roller-coaster of a life I’ve lived so far, I understand spirituality through a different, expanded lens these days. I just don’t believe S/He ONLY shows up in the ways I was taught to look for them…in the “this way is the ONLY way” evangelical-Southern-Christian kind of way…in the family prosperity gospel kind of way…the one that believes faith is a spiritual slot machine. If only I can say the right prayers, believe and be obedient to the rules…if I remain faithful in all things, I WILL get all the desires of my heart. Years of infertility, breaking your leg on your birthday, breaking your back literally just standing still, getting shingles, experiencing a failed adoption, a marriage falling apart after 17+ years, cancer diagnoses, death of loved ones…and so much more…these are the things that knock you flat down on your knees as you plead and beg for help…they are the things that happen in life that disprove that prosperity gospel, they literally break the handle off that slot machine.
I don’t experience faith as this, not that…black/white…right/wrong kind of way as it was handed to me as a girl in a pew. But my foundation hasn’t moved an inch since I was small. The God I believe in is love. Loving people for who they are…with no division, life for the good of the whole instead of the individual. The point is and was always belonging, understanding, community, not division…not rules…not the discrimination men have layered onto those rules for centuries. The point is seeing each other as equals, as humans with the same ancient need to belong, to be seen, to be known.
I’ve been chasing that same thread through every single job or position I’ve ever held. As a graphic designer in the things I made, as a marketing guru writing copy that compels, as a track coach and a mentor to teenagers at Trinity who needed someone in their corner more than they needed someone to correct them. And now, on every line I’ve ever worked…North, Malka, Shmone, Hasalon…and every home and office kitchen since. My hope, wherever I go, is that I leave people with the sense that for one moment, the light in me saw the light in them. That they had a chair at my table and were fully known while they sat in it.
My faith didn’t shrink…it’s expanded past the walls it was born in.
I no longer profess to know what I’m actually “purposed” to do with my one life, or obsess to figure it out in some grand cosmic sense. What I know instead is that life is about the moments. Moments that may seem small, unglamorous, mundane even…moments that are completely unorchestrated and that grab me by the chin to remind me that the whole thing…well, it’s all worth it. This week, in the middle of what was truly one of the more overwhelming stretches I’ve had in a while, I had plenty of these moments…and maybe, they’re a whole sermon right there.
Moments like when my biopsy results hit my phone as a text and I never in my life logged into a portal faster. Benign…I read it twice and googled the exact phrasing to make sure the word meant what I thought it meant. And then…the breath I’d been holding for an entire week, the one that had me walking around half paralyzed since the procedure, finally left my body…all at once…through my mouth, my shoulders…everywhere I’d been clenching.
…like standing outside my local Trader Joe’s at 7:30am yesterday, waiting for it to reopen after a summer-long renovation. I know how small and borderline psychotic that sounds…but the employees lined up on both sides of the doors to greet everyone walking in…there was music, and true, unfiltered joy on people’s faces at getting their beloved, slightly ridiculous grocery store back…and you guys, it nearly had me in tears on the escalator ride down to the store.
…like my daughter’s face on the second day of middle school. Day one was pretty rocky…but day two, she walked out through those doors next to a new friend, and her whole face was lit up with the relief of a kid who now knows she’s going to be okay this year…my face and my insides beamed with joy for her.
…like wearing a literal mask, hand-in-hand with Yas as we went to experience Phantom of the Opera through Masquerade this week. The gift of a date night, courtesy of the unfortunate, non-refundable purchase by my friend Tiffany after her NYC trip got cancelled. The whole night was amazing…Millie got to stretch her independence, and my best friend Marie stopped by to check on her and my mom kept her company on Facetime. And…the show, experiential in design, we followed the actors around the 3-floors of sets and rooms as they sang their hearts out and put on an incredible performance. I was moved by the music, by the art of it all, and tears filled my eyes behind my phantom mask.
…like at 6am this week, before the sun was even up, sitting down to write my pages and I found Sgt. Sushi curled so tightly at my feet he looked like a cinnabun. Not a worry in his little body, so comfortable, so happy…and I gently put my head on his tiny body for a minute just to borrow some of that peace before I had to get moving. Then I got down on the floor and wrapped myself around Sgt. Peppers, the much fatter of my two cats…who is literally built like the trash cat he is. The one who believes, with his whole heart, that he is the size of a mouse. Those two cats do more good for my nervous system than most things I’ve paid good money for.
…like when I caught Yas staring at me and smiling while we worked side by side on the couch, his feet tucked under my leg…him deep in his AI builds and me buried in Freckled Fork admin. And when I smiled back at getting caught, he says “you know the rules”, and it makes me giggle in my typical, lovingly defiant way. I like catching him love me, I’ll never stop.
…like Facetiming my mom, my dad, my brother, my sister, on their own separate days this week. Catching up on life, good health news, plans for the week…easy reminders of my roots, where I come from and who’s standing behind me.
…and like last night. 12+ hours on my feet, deep into appetizers and a birthday dinner for 15 of my client’s closest friends. The moment the guest of honor stopped her own party to raise a toast of gratitude for me and my cook, Rachel, and thank us for an extraordinary evening. And after, when Rachel told me it was the most enjoyable gig she’s ever worked, because of how calm and joyful I made the whole back of house feel while we were in it.
None of these moments were large or monumental…none of them were puppet-mastered by me or even mine to orchestrate…they just showed up, exactly when they needed to. It’s moments like these that have been pulling me out of the hole this week…the hole of exhaustion and imposter syndrome and my very Virgo need for tangible answers in a season that is offering me exactly zero of them.
I’ll be 43 in two weeks, and from my four decades on this planet, I’ve come to know that it’s never really about the fame…the money (even though I’d still love enough money to be debt free…please and thank you)…the success for the sake of success. The actual dang point of this life is…community…doing life together…joy…belonging…breaking bread…unconditional love. The point is showing up for each other when there’s a need, seeing each other clearly enough to be understood, and reaching across whatever line got drawn between us to love each other the way we also want to be loved. The point is knowing everybody carries their own pain of some kind, and by choosing togetherness anyway…we will always be better at carrying it with the help of those around us.
So mom, if you’re reading this…I haven’t gone anywhere. I promise you I haven’t strayed…I’ve just started finding God in a Trader Joe’s line…and in a cat curled at my feet…and especially in your sweet, encouraging text messages. Same God…much bigger table.
It’s these moments that are what life is actually about…they make it worth living…and they’re the moments that keep me moving forward, even on the weeks I feel completely untethered and unhinged like the last. Together…apparently…is the whole point, and so…I’ll keep setting the table. I hope you’ll join me.<3
“My faith didn’t shrink…it’s expanded past the walls it was born in” — So well said. I feel this in my own way too 🤍