Barbeque Chicken pizza is my favorite. California Pizza Kitchen, if it’s frozen. With the gluten-free cauliflower crust. Per usual, the temperature was scorched-Earth hot, like the spot where a meteorite lands. Okay, maybe it’s way more than super hot. But in my hunger, I decided that blowing on it would cool it enough. Sadly, that didn’t work. Now my tongue is suffering, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. In one fatal bite, I managed to kill a taste bud.

The thing is, it’s not really a taste bud that’s dying. It’s a small raised inflammation of the papilla, a tiny betrayal of your tongue, starting with something too hot or too acidic. The bump is where the pain comes from. Like a papercut, only on your tongue. But it feels like something died in there.

It starts with a tingle, a burning-like sensation. For me? It’s incessant. Acidic. Fiery. And for whatever reason, I can’t stop rubbing it along the backside of my front teeth. I do this without thinking, just to make it stop. Once the burning stops, then it itches. Like that mosquito bite you can’t quite reach, so you scratch the closest spot to it, hoping for relief. I rub it raw, trying to get relief, and the rubbing? It makes it worse.

I do it anyway.

Feeling unseen is a lot like the dying taste bud. You want to be heard. So you keep reaching for the same place, the one where the pain is coming from. You touch it over and over, hoping after a while that you will feel seen and heard. It’s the same old conversations. Tired social media posts. People you keep pushing on for a reply, hoping they will notice. But they don’t. And the same scroll at the same hour of the same night, you want someone to reply. It hurts so much. You keep repeating the same behavior anyway, because the alternative is to stop. Stopping feels so much worse than the itching.

The algorithm wants this post to open with “I can’t believe,” or “I never.” Negative hooks stop the scroll. Today I’m doing it differently. Instead, I want to tell you something you may or may not have heard before.

One simple truth.

You are loved.

Whether or not you step into a church. Whether or not you’ve done everything wrong. Or right. What’s important is you exist. You are here. And if you’re reading this? I want you to know: you are loved.

No matter what.

I know how much that matters because I’ve felt ignored, neglected, forgotten. A lot. I’ve read about Biblical prophets who felt it worse than I ever have. Depression. Persecution. Death at the hands of the people they were trying to lead. They felt some or all of these. And they kept going, kept showing up, anyway. They kept speaking even when no one wanted to hear it.

So did Jesus. He showed up for the Samaritan woman at the well. For Zacchaeus, the tax collector who climbed a tree. For the one nobody else would sit with. I guess that means I can, and probably should, too.

Here’s what I want you to walk away with today.

I am listening, right here. Right now. All so you can feel heard and seen. As a matter of fact, I’ll put down my phone for a face-to-face real conversation with you. (Unless you call me. Then, I guess I have no choice.)

You will be heard. You can say just how you feel, with no judgment from me. Vocalize what you are struggling with.

Because absolutely no one should feel ignored or unheard.

Show up. Take some risks. Listen.

Take a risk on one person who isn’t being heard because they are dealing with substance use issues. Someone who doesn’t have enough food to eat. Someone who just needs a smile today.

Show up and risk it all.

Even if it’s only for five minutes.

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Who in your life needs five minutes today?