“Remember what you love. Remember what loves you. Remember in this tide of hate what love is.”- Rebecca Solnit
I have just returned from a trip to New York City with my daughter and granddaughter. They had never been before. The biggest surprise? How safe they felt, how nice people were. Kids from the country hear horror stories. Actually, we all have been hearing horror stories from the now president -elect.
And yes, I am devastated by the outcome. And yes, I have family and friends who voted for him and I still love them. I think they still love me too. It’s problematic. I am counting on them to make sure he isn’t as evil and dangerous as I fear. That he really doesn’t mean what he said.
I was hit by a truck – a real truck—20 years ago. Then, I learned that the only thing I can control when the worst happens is my response. So, I’m not letting the bullies mess with my heart. They can’t have it. I just love this world way too much. I am a grandmother now. I don’t have time to waste. Plus, I pray morning and evening, and both services include praise, confession, forgiveness, and prayers for the poor, the prisoners, the persecuted– and they remind we Christians to love our neighbors as ourselves and respect the dignity of every human being.
This is also problematic considering my feelings for the president-elect, but I believe that I have to try to love the people I don’t like. That’s what Jesus says, and he is my spiritual guide, not any politician. There is a difference. A big difference. It’s not up to a president to make America Nice Again, it’s up to Americans. Us.
I cried when we cruised by the Statue of Liberty and the tour guide spoke so eloquently about our history, about the promise of this country. I hummed America the Beautiful.
This is the poem by Emma Lazarus on the base of Lady Liberty ( of course Liberty is a woman.)
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Last night I walked on the beach at sunset. It was beautiful. A neighbor was out too– and after we commiserated a bit, we saw a seal, and the clouds, and then listened to the waves meeting the shore as they have forever. It’s a comfort.
Now, I’m more determined than ever to protect this valley and its residents from harm. There is strength in the hills and in us. This evening, I will stop in at a safe space gathering for people who are scared–especially the local LGBTQ+ community. It’s what good neighbors do.
