I am sad. I am mad. I am afraid. These small words keep repeating in my head and heart.
We give voice to our grief because of the lives stolen in Orlando: gay and lesbian and trans lives. Latino and Latina lives. Beloved, cherished lives.
We give voice to our prayers for lasting comfort for their families, healing for those injured, respite for those who offered the gift of rescue and who will be forever changed by what they saw.
It is hard to look at the news; yet it is just as hard to turn away. I see these lost lives and I know that even without having met them that I love them: these sweet dancing ones; these cheeky loving ones; these mostly brown ones; these beloved queer ones. They are god’s children, every single one of them. The universe sang in each and every one of their heads, hearts, and hands.
Even if they find a reason or a motivation for this horrible act of violence, it will never make sense. Our hearts will go on aching.
Some of us just want to cry. Some of us just want to lash out. Some of us just want to hide.
I am sad. I am mad. I am afraid.
Yes, but not only those things:
I am still here.
I am still alive.
Yes, I might be tired.
But I will also be brave—brave enough to meet violence with peace; to meet hate with love; to meet shadow with light.
I will try to be brave. If you are not feeling brave, you can have some of mine. If I am not feeling brave, I will borrow some of yours. We will add our brave together, add it all up, so that our brave-together light will outshine the shadow.
I am sad. I am mad. I am afraid. But I am also brave.