On Hallowed Ground

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"Here, I'll take the picture so Seda can get into it too," says a member's spouse. He takes the camera from her.

"Thanks so much!" I call from my place, lying on the grass with some of the dearest people in my world.

He snaps pictures from several angles and announces that surely something there is usable. Then it occurs to me. I could ask people now, instead of after the photos are taken.

"Alright, anyone who doesn't want to have their picture on Social Media, this is your chance to step out. I'd like to post this next one."

I prepare for mass exodus. I can understand if people want to keep their images to themselves. Nobody moves.

I sit up, craning my neck around to see if it's true. And it is. "You're all ok with that?" A murmur of yes, mmhmm, and "I thought that this picture would go up there," echoes around me.

Something catches in my throat. For as bad a rap as Social Media gets, and for good reason, it's so much more than that to me.

Social media is where I meet people who could use my help. A place to share my creations—co-creations, really—in hopes that my love arrow hits its mark.

I have conversations online with young mothers. With people in their 70's. With career-driven folks in their 40-s and 50's. Most of them in relationships that are struggling. Some freshly out or searching, wanting to grow, to heal, to love again.

I treat the platforms of Instagram and Facebook like hallowed ground because sacred work unfolds there. Minds are opened, hearts are touched. Seeds of hope are planted.

And in this moment, lying in the grass with my live community, both local and flown in from all ends of the country, I'm on the bridge between that illusive world and this very earthbound one.

I am not holding that hallowed space alone. Many here have found me through Social Media. Others have been with me since the inception of our Joy Together community. In this moment, I feel their support, and it brings tears to my eyes.

This is sometimes lonely work. Late at night, I might find myself messaging with a young parent in crisis, helping them find a hotline for local support. Other times, I offer a ray of hope—dynamics can be changed!—to an elder who feels trapped in a relationship that's lifeless and bulging with complaint.

I rarely share these moments on the inside of my program, and still, in an outpouring of goodwill, my members give me the gift of their visible support in an image. More than that, they give you the gift of their visible support.

Here's what I see in the picture above: Evidence that joy is real. You can see it on their faces, in the way they lean in, arms around one another. Evidence that joy matters.

We gather, and we allow ourselves to be seen. Amidst the darkness in the world, this takes courage.

My heart breaks open. I feel a boundless love for these people, for joy, for life itself.

And behind us all is this garden. Mother Earth herself, bursting with abundance in the form of Marionberries, raspberries, and nasturtiums. We are not alone. You are not alone.

We stand for each other when we stand for joy.