Chit'lins

Ain’t nothin’ pretty ‘bout chit’lins. From the frozen block in the plastic bucket to the slowly unfurling curls defrosting in the sink to the way the smell spreads down the hall and into your fingers. But when a neighbor passes away and her best friend is grieving, what can you do but dump your joys and sorrows and chit’lins all together in the sink and just sit with them for a little while? What can you do but tenderly pull apart each piece of meat and memory, holding it for a moment before setting it aside to keep?  What can you do but let the scent of vinegar and peace into your body as you breathe, and breathe, and keep on breathing? And somewhere among the joys and sorrows, memories and meat, vinegar and peace, you know that this too is beautiful because God is here.