Kissed by Bliss: Blissed to Fall
We started by racing. “Brayce, I’ll race you to
the pole.” His dad ran down to the finish line, eager to see us compete. “Okay, on your mark, get set, GO!”
At the park, as my siblings began talking about the upcoming football season, I scanned for something to do. The trees caught my attention first. This past winter I started a game with myself—identifying which trees were “climbable.” I spotted one. “Brayce, you want to climb this tree?” Of course, he said yes. What eight-year-old wouldn’t?
After we made it safely down, my siblings were seated at the picnic table—the last thing I wanted to do was sit. I looked over at the playground. “Brayce, you wanna go play?” He nodded, smiling. “I’ll race you!”
We climbed and swung across the monkey bars, laughing. At one point, we hung upside down together. Blood rushed to my head, and I welcomed the dizzy shift in energy. I let my arms fall below me, gazing up at the jubilant clouds and bold sun. Something in that moment settled deeply within me. Eventually, we made our way to the swings. I pushed off, eager to meet the air. Eyes closed, breeze on my face, I whispered to myself: “Higher. Higher.”
—
When I imagined reflecting on this past year of life, I thought it would be from the 13th floor of my New York hotel room. Or maybe bayside in Ocean City. Or on a rock during one of my long walks through Rock Creek Park, listening to the creek sing. But none of those stirred me the way a simple day with my nephew did. Somewhere in that afternoon, a deposit was made.
This year has shifted me—inside and out—in the most dramatic of ways. Since February, it’s felt like I’ve been sprinting without pause. Long considered a distance runner, I had to become a sprinter. Old ways of relating to myself fell away—not by choice, but by demand, so I could meet and thrive through this moment.
Many times this year I’ve wrapped my arms around trees, seeking their natural wisdom and compassion. When I couldn’t reach one, I imagined being one—feet rooted deep in the earth, torso rising as a trunk, arms stretching wide as branches, head lifted as the crown toward heaven.
As I typed this, a butterfly drifted past me. I remembered how they hang upside down after leaving their chrysalis, letting life flow into their wings so they can fly. I prayed for this moment back in 2014 when I began my healing journey. I didn’t want fame or riches. What I wanted most felt simple, though not easy: to be at home within myself. To no longer wake up in shame, anxiety, or oppression. To simply be me—lovingly, blissfully, beautifully.
The world around me is not always kind to a person like me in these “United” States. Yet God is gracious. Provision meets me. The shadow of darkness is overruled by divine light. Because in this moment—when I am most likely to be suppressed or oppressed—I have wings.
We must be mindful of the energy that propels us forward or holds us back. Thinking of those joyful skips toward the swings, I’m reminded how tender and sweet life can be. Yes, we are living in a season of great tension—both here in D.C. and across the country. But are we open to grace when it appears? Can we allow ourselves to be interrupted—not just by the news, the extra hour of work, or the replay of what went wrong—but by joy? By love?
As I step into another year of life, I’m grateful for being kissed by love, kissed by bliss. Grateful my heart is not so hardened that I forget to play—to run, skip, climb, or hang upside down like I too am eight. Grateful to swing with the desire to touch the sky. As we used to sing at Mt. Nebo Baptist Church when I was a kid:
“I’m free, praise the Lord I’m free.
No longer bound.
No more chains holding me.”
I want to go higher. And higher still. This is my prayer—for me, and for you: to rise, to spread our wings, and to fly.
—
While hanging upside down that day, staring at the sky, I was startled by a loud thump. My nephew had fallen onto the worn mulch. “BRAYCE, ARE YOU OKAY?” I panicked. He popped up laughing hysterically. “Yessss, I’m fine.”
How had I forgotten? How often do we forget? Even when we fall, we can choose to laugh.
What if we were blissed to fall? What if grace and provision are waiting for us—even when life turns us upside down?
Don’t just fall. Fall blissfully. For even the butterfly must first hang upside down, allowing life to flow into its wings before it learns to fly.
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With big love,
Dr. Darrien
