Held

Sit. Hands open on the knees.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The breath is a small liturgy.

Read the verse slowly. Nor death, nor life. Nor angels, nor rulers. Nor things present, nor things to come. Nor height, nor depth. The list is exhaustive on purpose.

There is no category of experience the writer forgot. There is no version of your day, your year, your lifetime, that is outside the scope of this love.

Whatever is on your mind right now — see if you can hold it inside this promise rather than the promise inside it. The promise is bigger. The promise is the room.

Let the hands rest, open. Not grasping. Not pushing away. Open. The way a hand is open when it's not trying to hold anything.

Stay a moment longer. There is nowhere else to be. Nothing else to do. Just this — being held.

When you're ready, gently close the hands. Carry the heldness with you.