Pink Halo

Pink Halos

A woman strutted by me today on my way to church. She had striped pants with a vibrant pink, perfectly matching her puffed hair. She was about my age, maybe a bit older, Asian heritage, walking with the authority of a commander, swinging her arms in an excellent hip length jacket. She was so striking, so utterly cool, she made me gasp. Her puffed pink hair was very thin, barely there, like a cloud. I could see the entire shape of her skull through it. But instead of fretting over being quite bald, she wore it like a blazing crown of “F ya” diaphanous glory and I wanted to shout out “YES YES YES”.

It reminded me of a remarkable human I bumped into while walking Sadie the other day. I don’t know how this person identifies, they had a leg tattoo that said “lover boy”, seen through ripped jeans. They had black nail polish and pale skin and tousled hair. Early twenties maybe. I’ll call them Lamb because they presented that gentle.

Lamb saw the puppy and gasped and asked if they could pet her. I said, “of course”, my dog already wagging her bum so excitedly she could churn cement with her tail. Lamb pet her and pet her and pet her, then with tears in their eyes said, “Thank you, I really needed that today.” They were so utterly transparent and vulnerable I wanted to throw my coat over them. “This world is too harsh for you, your heart is going to get lacerated!” As they walked away, I thought, “Maybe I have it wrong. Maybe that Lamb is stronger than me. Staying that open, despite the cost.”

The third remarkable person this week was a little woman, five foot nothing, likely in her sixties. She hopped out of an old rickety brown van to help me carry two big bags of linen from the back of my snazzy sports car to the VGH thrift store. She was half my size and hoisted that big bag on her back like it was fluff. She dumped it at the front door with a grin and then went to the back of the line, as people waited to be let in, one vaccinated person at a time.

I don’t know why this tiny Indigenous lady decided to help me. Maybe she noted my bummed knee? I was really touched by her generosity. Who does that in the city?

I got to church and it was the first time I had set foot in it in over two and a half years.  CoVid wasn’t the only deterrent, St Andrews Wesley also went through a major necessary renovation from top to bottom. What I first noticed was: the stained glass windows had all been cleaned and they were so bright! I was seeing them, really seeing them, for the first time. Three windows along the right side were all of prominent women in the Bible.

At the front, a band played: percussion, guitar, violin. To hear live music again after so long? Tears kept streaming down my cheeks. Oh how I missed these faces, these sounds.

The sermon started with a land acknowledgment but then also a time devoted to education. The congregation is going through the TRC 94 calls to action and the book clubs are reading 21 Things You Might Not Know about the Indian Act. The sermon was smart. It focused on Corinthians and the call to be cheerfully generous…even during a time like CoVid when the reptilian brain tells us to hide away, harden, and focus on self preservation.

The new music director was adorably enthusiastic on the pipe organ…and as I left the church, the stairs were painted a rainbow with the words, “No Matter Who You Are, No Matter Who You Love, All of YOU is welcome Here.”

A lot of people don’t know how I can still call myself a Christian. A lot of Christians don’t know how I can call this “social justice rainbow farting bleeding heart new age-y gay loving feminist bullshit” organization a church.

Yeah. Well. This is so my place.

And yeah. It’s a bright pink halo.

Yeah, it’s a Lamb.

Yeah, it’s a grinning burden lifter.