my unhappy unknown

I still believe in love.

As hopeless and hokey and hippie as that might make me.

I love you, my many dear friends, who are excited and hopeful about America’s future as our new president takes office tomorrow.

And I love you, the many, who are afraid.

I even have love in my heart for that strange man, the almost-POTUS.  After all, he too is made in God’s image.  He too was once a little boy.  He too gets afraid. He too is human.

Its just that I feel as if I have spent my whole life looking for someone to look up to.

Perhaps this is the story of those whose trust was broken hard.

We just never quite get well.

If all I wanted was to be happy.  I could wrap myself in this privileged life I call home.  And just pursue beauty.

Now that sounds peaceful.  No one fights over that.

Let me just put up some more dictionary pages on my walls and fill a few more hoops with African kikois and plant another succulent and spray paint some more gold.

And I will do that. I’ll order seeds this weekend because new things grow.  Because flowers make life better.  I’ll order from eco-friendly companies run by small business owners who propagate heirloom seeds.  And on every level this will make me feel a little better.

I’ll tend to my winter garden that needs cutting back and cleaning up.  I’ll even house hunt for that elusive bigger place our family needs.

But the truth is.  While I cocoon in my beauty bubble.  Injustice will continue.  The voiceless still need a voice.  The depth of darkness in the church continues to harm the children.  While I care for myself and my own, a whole world festers.  If you have not seen children hungry each day maybe you cannot know.  If you do not hold a motherless child, maybe you can be distant.

But this is my unhappy unknown.  How do I make peace with a world like this?

And who will search with me for these answers?

Because the pat ones aren’t good enough.

To be a Jesus lover and to not accept many of the messages of the church.  Well, it’s a little like being in the wilderness waiting for the promised land.  You want to just go in but home is so elusive.

I want to imperfectly love the imperfect.  Because that’s all any of us can ever do, right? But there’s that line, that sticky line.  That while I imperfectly love the imperfect – I must somehow still note that which crosses from our universal humanity, into something worse.  Something that must be stood up to.

I cannot stand by while harm is perpetrated.

And yet that is so often been asked of me: by my family, by the church, and now by our country.

Do not ask it of me friends.

Please, do not ask it of me too.

 

 

 

 

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