I see you.

I saw you, this morning,
a little more withdrawn than usual,
a smile pasted on.

I saw you choose the other Communion line,
the one we weren't in,
as if to highlight, just a little,
how other you were feeling.

I remember that time, those feelings, that otherness.
I remember trying to navigate my new parameters,
trying to find a new way to arise from my ashes,
when the old ways had been erased from my horizon.

But I saw something else, this morning.

I saw you kneel after Communion
and gently kiss your cross.

That's the hardest, but the best part, my daughter.
The acceptance, the openness, the desire, even -
to receive those moments of otherness,
our own sinfulness and that of others,
and to love them, as He did.

Because He felt an other-worldly otherness,
for love of us,
and loved it best,
for love of our otherness.

I've always been proud of you, my daughter.
It's not easy, and no one is perfect -
not at the beginning,
not in the middle,
not even at the end.

But you are choosing to walk the path,
To accept, to be open, to love.

And though I know today was a hard one,
I can see your greater growth:
from ashes into ash-groves,
from dust into dancing,
from cross to glory.
His glory (which we share in, but do not own).

I saw you today, and I see you,
and He sees you.
and little by little you will see yourself, and others,
through the lens of His Heart,
which changes everything.