I met God…she’s black. How could she be anything other than? She’s of a way of being in this world that has been kept on the fringe; for from this vantage she can see clearer, hear more, and yet be susceptible to all. And, still her experiences are round with a sense of moreness–to be more, for life to mean more, for us to see more in her. And in her allness is she forgotten. Collectively, when we are weak, we often trotted on her back, on her name–the beloved divine. She’s black. How could she not be? She’s queer and brown, trans and from the part of life that we speak of least, demand of most, and fear too much, and yet, we shun all while feigning adoration. How could God be anything and exclude her? And how could we make God so finite as to make it possible to exclude her, she, they, them? Oh, how we’ve made God too small. And how could I not be able to see her, she, black. If God is total then nothing of creation can be unlike God. If God is the totality of the Universe then she lives on the fringe, outward-facing, protective, not always welcomed by smaller minds, but always needed to expand the lines of our experiences, of the Divine; then she especially lives in the spaces between our most sacrificed humans; those used up to raise others up; those who gracefully press on, heart first, chin up, eyes open, knowing, faithfully knowing that secretly they do not possess the qualities of mere mortals. I met God, she’s black. She couldn’t be anything less.