Monday Morning Musing: What Now?

I hardly know, when each day begins, what I can do in the face of what we know is ahead. We have lived here before, though some argue that this presidency will likely be more brutal and off the rails than it was the last time. Advisors and appointees will not be measured, temperate people who can keep the president in check. The Supreme Court has lost their capacity to work objectively. And we've lost the Senate. It will be a wild ride.

In 2016 we marched and organized and pushed back with all that was in us and in 2020 we barely managed to win by running a straight white man with an impeccable record.

Here we are, the joke of the free world, having elected an incompetent, convicted felon and sexual predator to the highest office in the land. Again. I must confess, I have lost faith in at least half of this nation.

While this might be the place in writing this post where I turn from doom and gloom to something more hopeful, I'm not there just yet. I don't see any overarching way that this gets better. I'm thankful that we live in Washington State, the only state to vote even more deeply Democratic this time around. I'm thankful that our current governor was wise enough to stockpile what women will need to continue to have choices about their reproductive health. I'm thankful that our governor elect sued the previous tRuMp administration multiple times in order to keep them between the curbs of the law of the land.

But friends, I am at a loss for what I can do. And I'm a do-er. I want to be out there again, marching and working and fighting for some sanity in our land. Not because the candidate I voted for lost, but because everything is at stake. I don't want my granddaughter to have fewer rights than the generation before her.

So, for now, here's what I am doing: I am being careful to only read or watch impartial news sources when I look for the news of the day. When I look for commentary, I am reading wise and trusted sources, both women: Heather Cox Richardson and Joyce Vance. Mostly, I am reading what the poets and deep thinkers among us are writing into this time in history. And I am trying to offer the same assurance to myself that I am offering to the many who have trusted me with their fears in this season. That hope doesn't just die this easily.

And the One Thing I am doing that I will not stop doing, is being present in the conversations and lives of the children and youth among us. Because I've pretty much given up on my generation for sure and on the young adults who didn't vote because they were concerned about Harris' stand on the conflict in the Middle East; let's see how that works out. But the children are where hope lives.

A couple of weeks ago, as I was preparing to go into our sanctuary to lead worship, a young girl stopped me. We'd never had an extended conversation together, but she was clearly determined that we were going to have one at that moment. She wanted to tell me about her experience as she is learning to swim with hopes to make the swim team. She said that she can tread water just fine, but that doesn't get her anywhere. She doesn't make any forward progress. So she's working on her crawl stroke, but right now she tires about halfway down the pool lane.

And that's exactly how I feel. Like we've been treading water just fine, but we are tiring out when we try to make real, lasting progress.

So, I'll remind myself of what I told her: the more we practice, the easier it will be and the better we'll be at it. But if we never try, we definitely won't ever make it. Just keep swimming (thanks, Dory!)

I am so grateful that my Beloved recognized that a conversation of significance was taking place and snapped this photo: