You are beloved.
Beloved….you are beloved.
I will always remember the first time I heard those words. There, at the tiny contemplative faith community I’d begun attending around the time of separation, the pastor was reminding me who I was. But I pushed back. No. “You are beloved” was for someone else, not me. I ducked and let the words go by. Still, I took a quick peek over my shoulder. Something in me longed to be beloved and for that to be true about me…but I could not hold onto it. Not yet.
Covert emotional abuse has a subtle way of gutting us. Not necessarily in a big dramatic fashion, but in a strange, slow, hollowing out manner, not unlike getting sanded or scraped away from within. Everything looks fine from the outside, but the spirit inside is increasingly being destroyed as the walls of self are thinned and weakened. This particular type of abuse often goes unquestioned in Asian American culture and the church (I’ll get into this more in another post.) I’m also told (by my southern friends) that the US’ Southern culture and Asian American culture have many similarities.
Returning and returning again to the place where I heard my belovedness spoken over me was like standing with my face upturned to a gentle, warm, summer rain. Such grace in that truth. I absorbed what I could, letting the rest wash over me. Could this be real? Soaking in the good of hearing myself named as beloved was life-giving. It also felt radical and maybe even a bit illegal. I’d been well-trained not to see myself that way.
My favorite service of the year is the Blessing of Belovedness. Picture this in your mind: Our pastor would stand in the center with water, and we would each come up, speak our name (put your name here) to him, and then everyone in the room would say together “(Your name), you are God’s beloved, in you, God is well pleased.”, as our pastor traced a cross on our foreheads with a water-dipped finger. Then we would bless the belovedness of the next person, and the one after that, and the one after that in a beautiful ceremony of naming and of being named by/in community. It was sacred, seeing and hearing person after person being named God’s beloved and to be part of supporting each one with our chorus of voices. This community of faith held my belovedness for me until I could hold it for myself, and I am deeply thankful for their faithful love.
Over the years, that hollow, thin-walled space in me has been transformed. The thinness has become a translucent strength, allowing the light to enter, be held, and also to emanate. What once contained destruction and grief has become a spacious, generative place where God’s joy, compassion, life, and light make their home, extending a warm beacon of welcome, shelter, and compassion to all who pass by. There’s a direct relationship between how much we have suffered and how much joy we can experience. The darkness of the suffering is not gone - instead, it has become a rich backdrop that gives depth to the joy.
You are God’s beloved. Yes, you. Those words are for you. You belong to them, and they to you.
If you still want to duck and let them go by, that’s okay. That strong reflexive response has probably been there for a while. Be kind to yourself. It can take some time.
I’d like to offer you this belovedness practice:
Sit up nice and tall in your chair, with your feet flat on the floor. You can also place your hands lightly on your heart if you’d like, or rest them comfortably in your lap. Close your eyes and take a few slow deep breaths. Notice what moves in your body as you breathe. As you inhale slowly through your nose, think “I am”, and as you exhale slowly through your mouth, think “beloved.”. Repeat that rhythm of “I am” “beloved” for a minute or for as long as you’d like.
This practice of remembering who you are is especially helpful after an incident that leaves you feeling anything but beloved. I invite you to lean into your belovedness as often as you can, even if it is just a quick breath as you go about your day. You’ve been named. You belong. You are beloved.
Go gently,
Wendy
Just in case: 24/7 U.S. National Domestic Violence Hotline, voice: 800-799-7233, text: “START” to 88788
Image: Artem Kovalev, for Unsplash