Coffee, A Priest, And Big Fucking Feelings

I had coffee with a priest this morning.

Not on purpose. I was at my local coffee shop—yes, that coffee shop if you remember that fiasco—and it was really crowded on this sunny summer day. So this young gentleman in his clerical collar politely asked if he could share my table.

I didn’t expect that we’d get to talking. My faith and my spirituality are still a bit of a jumble at this point in my life and it always feels a little outside my lane to feel like my heathen self should be hanging out with the enlightened. But there he was, and he smiled and made small talk, and so things went.

It’s impossible to talk to anyone these days without talking about All The Fucking Things That Are Happening Around Us so naturally, we drifted that direction after we both agreed it was so nice to be sitting outside in the sunshine and around other humans.

Then, he did the unthinkable. He asked, with all sincerity:

“So, how are you faring with everything going on?”

I was so fucking angry and terrified and embarrassed at the tears that sprung to my eyes, giving me away in an instant when I am supposed to be fucking strong and impervious and resilient. I don’t think he was surprised. I think he asked on purpose.

See, I am one of the people who have Big Feelings. All the time. Like…about everything.

Sometimes that’s not really constructive, like when I’m Big Mad at the fucking dishwasher because why would you put the detergent dispenser thing in such a place that you can’t put long utensils in front of it? Or lately, a lot of seemingly rudderless Big Mad at the willfully ignorant fucksticks who are putting the whole of us in danger because they refuse to accept that “personal liberties” also come with societal responsibilities.

Or when I’m Big Sad because my kid is hurting over something that isn’t even under her control and I can’t fix it and I can’t do anything else either and my heart HURTS but hurting isn’t acting and why is parenting? Or when Big Sad curls up with me late at night because people I love are far away and I don’t know when I’m going to get to see them or when I’m feeling afraid that people let me be around but don’t really want me around.

Or when I’m Big Fucking Frustrated because technology won’t work right or because laundry is endless or because adulthood feels like it’s all about the number of appointments you need to schedule but are always somehow behind on.

And maybe don’t tell anyone, but a lot of times for me? It’s Big Fucking Love. For people. For things. Inspiration. Curiosity. Amazement. The overwhelm of beautiful music or the deep, soul-satisfying laughter of a memory being made, or the sheer heart-bursting joy of hearing the voice of the person who lights your fucking heart on fire because they just see you.

Having Big Feels is hard. Most of the time it feels like…a flaw. It’s been on my mind a lot lately. A lot a lot.

I could probably write chapters upon chapters in Volume 347 of my journal about how many times I’ve been in therapy because I blame my Big Feels for people abandoning me. I’m too much to handle so they fucking bail and I should learn to shut that shit down, right? It’s strange to think that someone could leave you for loving them too much. Or for caring too much about too many things. But that’s what I’ve long been afraid I was doing wrong.

I don’t know why or how I said this to The Priest. Is it a magic skill of the clergy to just get you to fucking say things? But to my horror, as we were talking about how we’re coping with the world that feels like it’s on existential fire all the time, that’s what he asked, and that’s what I said to him. All of it.

Do you know what The Priest said to me in response? This fucking priest who sat down in the empty spot at my table?

“I think the world right now could use a few more people whose hearts and souls are filled with big things instead of small ones.”

Well, fuck.

I fidgeted with my napkin and smiled a little weakly and thanked him for that sentiment. He told me that he, too, was a Big Feeler and that he understood the difficulty that comes with it sometimes.

But he made me promise to share it rather than stifle it because he said it was a gift I wasn’t meant to squander. He probably meant that it was a gift from God. He also probably knew I wasn’t sure about that part. So he let it just sit there, silently nestled between his other words, trusting its presence just the same.

As he gathered up his things and headed off to the rest of his afternoon, I just sort of…sat. Absorbed. Felt the sunshine. Paid attention to part of my heart that always feels like it’s going to rip through my chest with all the things in it. Maybe had a bit of a different appreciation for it. Maybe was a little mad at the kind stranger in the white collar who dragged that shit out onto a café table in broad daylight and then went off to hang out with angels or do whatever else priests do in their spare time.

Maybe I was a little bit…humbled?

You signed up for this thing, I know, because you like funny, sweary rants and raves and that cathartic anger that comes from railing against the under-inflated clownpunchers that pilot the Dick Brigades of the world. There sure are plenty of them.

But today, you get this instead.

When so many other things right now are so fucking broken, so overwhelmingly frightening, so absolutely upside down, is feeling too much love or silliness or passion or enthusiasm or sappiness really the worst fucking thing I can be doing? Is that really the thing I’m going to shrink back from now, of all fucking times and places? Is that the mistake that I’m going to fear making, for fuck’s sake, and pull my punches because I’m worried someone will think I care too fucking much? Am I really going to decide to love less because I’m afraid of whether people will receive it?

Our personal Coffee Shop Priest stopped by today to tell us to make sure we let our hearts and souls be full of big things instead of small ones.

Big things. The fucking audacity of him to give us not just permission for that, but encouragement.

And so here I sit, feelings full to bursting as usual…but a with a small sense of peace that maybe that’s not only okay right now but needed. Necessary. Important. Purposeful.

So I’ll save the rage for a different day. And instead let myself feel the gratitude that sometimes, when you least expect it but certainly when you most need it, grace finds you.

With big love,

Amber