Oh my heart

The costs and delights of staying human

To fact-check an article I wrote, in the first few days of the year I finally watched the first few episodes of the television show The Bear. The historic Chicago church I wrote about is the setting of some of the scenes.* At the end of one episode, on a painful day in the main character’s life, he walks alone to Lake Michigan and looks silently out at the water, as the R.E.M. song “Oh My Heart” crescendoes.

The song came back to me often in the longest January on record. Early in the month, a family member who was also a cherished friend died. Stephen’s obituary describes him as “a man of immense heart, intellect, and generosity,” and he was. I wanted to travel to the West Coast for his memorial service, especially to see Vivian, his spouse, who I also cherish. Instead I stayed in Chicago and was one of the readers in a joyous wedding for a couple who found later-in-life love. Oh my heart.

I’ve continued caring for neighbors whose loved ones were detained this fall. During those six weeks of living under siege by federal agents, I don’t think my nervous system ever calmed all the way down. The retreat I went on in November with the community I pastor, Moveable Feast, was, as hoped, an opportunity to heal. Amid the sirenless quiet of the Michigan woods, poetry and collagemaking, and singing together, my body released its high alert.

Until January 8 when we heard reports of Gregory Bovino and Customs and Border Patrol agents returning to Chicago. Our state senator called for resuming school watch. It was a Tuesday night, and I signed up for the following morning. I planned an outfit that included snowpants-overalls — a wonderfully warm winter item I learned about from an activist friend in the Twin Cities. I sent her a message thanking her again for showing me how to stay warm and stand up to fascism at the same time.

I came home the next morning from an uneventful school watch in Chicago to the news that the federal agents had in fact flooded the Twin Cities and murdered Renee Good while her wife was nearby. At a vigil here that evening, local author and activist Kelly Hayes spoke about “the Cost of Staying Human.”

Even though we know ICE has killed before … their brutality has not hardened or corrupted us. We are still shaken and heartbroken by their violence. That is the cost of staying human in inhuman times — and it’s a cost we pay in defense of our neighbors and in defense of our own humanity.

It was painful to hear reports of ICE escalating the tactics they used here in Chicago, since I can imagine what they are going through in Twin Cities. After the murder of Alex Pretti, I saw a digital flyer suggesting going outside and lighting a candle at 7 p.m. that Saturday evening. I contacted many of my neighbors to invite them to join us on our porch or light candles in their own porches or front windows. We strengthened and expanded our connections after federal agents tear-gassed our block one Sunday morning in October. One of our neighbors who was most affected by that brutality responded immediately to say she wanted to join us in lighting candles for Minnesota, writing “my heart is breaking.” Oh our hearts.

Throughout all of this, I’ve been reading The Book of Delights by Ross Gay. I met him by chance on Christmas Eve, earlier in the day, at Midtown Scholars Bookstore in Harrisburg. He kindly signed a copy of the book for me. Once I began reading it, I discovered that he wrote all of the short essays between his 42nd and 43rd birthdays, the year of life I am in now.

The book is making me more aware of those moments of joy in my own daily life. I delight in the new leaves on the prayer plant in my front window, furled tightly with their stripes of green and pink. I delight in my eight-month-old housemate vocalizing with enthusiasm as she tries new foods at the dinner table.

Yesterday morning, as happens some days, I was taking our dog down to the backyard at the same time that one of my housemates was carrying her infant daughter to the car to take her to day care before going to work. As they reached the garage, they turned toward me to wish me a good day. My youngest housemate smiled at me with the genuineness that only a baby can share, since she has not yet learned all the different things she may want or need to communicate with a smile. She simply smiled at me before I smiled back. Oh my heart.

* Quinn Chapel AME Church is the setting for Molly Ringwald’s guest appearance and when Carmy shares in Al-Anon, Jeremy Allen White’s brilliant, intense monologue later in the season. I couldn’t keep watching The Bear, at least for now. I don’t need television extending the emotional rollercoaster beyond what daily life does already. But I was impressed by the show.

Reading and listening

The story I wrote about Quinn Chapel AME Church was published this week:

“Historic church teaches about the past and engages the present: The oldest Black congregation in Chicago restores its historic building while reaching out as history is made in the city today.” By Celeste Kennel-Shank. Faith and Leadership, February 3, 2026.

I’ve been listening the beautiful song “We Rise” by queer Jewish musician Batya Levine, and getting to know more of their music on Soundcloud.

I also enjoyed a TEDxOshkosh talk by my friend Shola Adegbite, “The World is a Marketplace: Lessons from the Yoruba Culture.”