On healing when your heart is tired (the best I have to offer us).

First things first. Remove anything on your body involving buttons, zippers, or hooks and put on the stretchiest, coziest items in your closet. You should be as comfortable as possible right now, and even though your button-fly jeans are very hip and make your rear end look like a fashion model’s, you deserve to take a deep breath and inhabit as much physical space as you need to in this moment. Or, if you feel like putting on your nicest jeans is absolutely essential to your healing process, then by all means, you should do that. Red lipstick never hurt anything, either. But I will be here in my softest yoga pants and my well-worn “Love Anyway” sweatshirt because that is what this moment calls for.

Look in the mirror in as much or as little as you’re wearing and whisper I was created by and for Divine Love, I am held and kept by Divine Love, and I choose to be still and abide in the presence of Divine Love in this moment. As many times as you need.

Scream if you need to (sometimes an obscenity or two is 100% called for).
Buy dollar store plates just to smash if you need to.
Free yourself from the obligation to say a single word to anyone if you need to.

Watch “The Holiday,” because nothing hits home quite like Miles telling Iris that he composed a song just for her and “used only the good notes.”

Schedule a therapy appointment. Or, if you’re like me, an extra one.

Take your medicine.

Move through the warrior poses a time or two or ten.

Make some tea and drink it out of your favorite mug.

Cry. For God’s sake, let out all of the howling hurt.

I have done it all and then some.

Please do not doom scroll, max out your Visa on Amazon, watch any 24/7 news channel, or consume anything with tequila—even though it might be preferable to drown yourself in any number of vices, the world needs us to stay sober for this.

The world needs us to stay sober through this.

Go outside. Take a walk around your neighborhood and see how things are still moving. Pay attention to the sky, the flowers managing to stretch upwards through cracks in the pavement, the chipmunks with their stuffed cheeks that scurry and dart between their hiding places, the birds, the breeze, and the trees. Donald Miller once wrote that in the autumn, “all the trees lose their leaves, but none of them are worried.” The earth has been dying and being reborn for millennia. She can teach us how to do the same if we let her.

Someone on Facebook will boast in an insane tirade that you are emotionally immature and intolerant and that your convictions go against God. If you can, wish her love and light. She has obviously had a hard day, and sometimes it seems easier to spread the pain around. Do not let her steal your joy, your softness, or your determination.

Better yet, stay off Facebook altogether. It is the wasteland where nuance goes to die.

Do one small helpful thing. Click the button to donate. Pick up the piece of litter. Tip the lady at your favorite sushi place $10 instead of $2 (after all, she knows your order by heart by now). Leave a loaf of banana bread on your neighbor’s porch. Mail a card to your friend across the state or country. Buy a footlong sub sandwich for the man sitting on the corner with his cardboard sign. I have never found a single thing that makes me feel richer or more powerful or more content and rooted than giving simply for giving’s sake.

In a similar vein, I’ve got two words for you: guerrilla blessings. My best friend Michael taught me about them recently and they are changing my life. Pass the peace to everyone you see.

Peace to you, neighbor with the yard littered with beer cans.
Peace to you, neighbor with a full cart in the “ten items or fewer” line.
Peace to you, neighbor who cut me off in traffic.
Peace to you, neighbor delivering my mail.
Peace to you, neighbor who went with the cute jeans instead of yoga pants.
Peace to you, neighbor trying to make ends meet.
Peace to you, neighbor with the cranky kiddos.
Peace to you, neighbor who voted for the other guy.
Peace to you, neighbor handing me my coffee order.

We are all neighbors, for better or worse, and we could all use a little more peace today. By passing it around, I find that my own peace increases exponentially. If you’re not quite ready for guerrilla blessings, that’s understandable. But for what it’s worth, they always seem to work the best when peace passing is the last thing I feel like doing (damn it). It is some kind of wild magic.

Light a candle and pray. Petition God or the universe or whatever feels true to you in this moment for more love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. And tell God that while she’s at it, we could also use more curiosity, humility, generosity, and courage—less snark, jealousy, and shame. God, please free us from the burdens of snark, jealousy, and shame.

If you don’t know what to pray, borrow from the saints who went before you.

Pray with Martin Luther King Jr.

Or pray with Julian of Norwich.

(Or, if the saints just feel too saintly, pray with me.)

Whatever happens next, I hope that you remember that you are made up of the very best stuff. I hope you know that no matter what happens today or tomorrow or the next day, the world needs all of you—your joy, your anger, your hope, your vision, your gifts, your curiosity, your quirks, your voice, your determination.

All of that is holy.

Whatever happens next, I hope that you keep your eyes open to all of it, because bearing witness is one of the most radical things we can do for the healing of the world.

Whatever happens next, I hope that you remember that there’s nothing hate could tear down that love does not have the power to build back better than before, and that hope is the strongest substance in the whole wide universe.

Whatever happens next, I hope that you feel safe and held—and if you don’t, just know that the door is always open and there is always a place for you next to me. In the words of my strong and good-hearted man, all are welcome who believe all are welcome.

Whatever happens, I hope that you still believe that mountains are moveable. I still believe that because I am one, living and breathing and desperately fleshy, and I am moving all the time. Hopefully in the direction of grace.

Whatever happens next, I believe that you are worth sticking around for, in all of your messy, holy, hilarious brilliance.

I hope you’ll stick around for me, too.

Peace to you, fellow traveler.