Who Is Actually In Charge Here?

Ultimately, I don’t believe that Trump is in charge. Although he pretty much seems to think that he is.

There is finally snow in the forecast today for the mountains and rain for my house. The long-range forecast is also showing rain in early February, possibly three days in a row. That feels hopeful.

A possible change in the weather is a small bright spot. So far it has not rained this month. We’ve had day after day of beautiful spring weather. Spring weather in January is not good. While the lack of rain has been distressing, it was not the most troubling thing this week. (I’m sure you can guess what the most troubling thing was).

I am wondering when my stomach will return to normal. I am sure it is not good for me, to have this burbling anxiety churning away inside me. I am still trying to process all the things that have changed in our country since Monday when Trump took office and issued his executive orders. I bet you are already familiar with them and also with his response to Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde’s powerful sermon at the Washington National Cathedral last week. Budde simply (and respectfully) asked Trump to have mercy on immigrants and LGBTQ+ folks. Trump’s response? Budde is a “Radical Left hard line Trump hater” (I love how he talks about himself in the third person.) Also, her sermon was “nasty in tone,” “boring,” and “uninspiring.” He even said she should apologize (because mercy is such a nasty thing, I guess).

It’s going to be a long four years.

As much as I would like to push a fast forward button and rocket to the end of Trump’s presidency and hopefully to a time that makes sense to me again, I also do not want to wish away the next four years, to lose them. Though the days seem dark, there are still gifts. This week has been marked by fear and sadness, but ultimately I get to decide if I will allow the far right or the so-called Christian nationalists or Elon Musk with his Nazi salute or Trump to steal my joy. I can do my best to orient the compass of my heart toward joy and hope, regardless of what is going on out there. I will look for people who bring light. I will hunt for small things to be grateful for.

Both my children are safe tonight: one away at university, the other up in Tahoe, working a good job. All my cars worked this week! The Forester is fixed and I have possibly mastered the trick of driving with its tricky clutch pedal. The old Corolla started and drove a few yards, which is all it needs to do anymore. The new Corolla is still shiny! Two friends checked in with me to see how I was doing. They remind me that I am not alone (none of us who are feeling stunned and sad and discombobulated are alone.)

I took care of the birds. I hung up my new feeder and the goldfinches found it right away. I took Biscuit for a walk around the block and said hello to a new neighbor, a woman who is renting a house that had been empty for some time. I saw her out working in her yard one afternoon earlier this week, cutting back blackberries and moving rocks.

“I bet you’re sore today!” I said, the next time I ran into her, because I saw that she had finished constructing several new rock pathways.

“Yes, I am sore!” she said, and then added, “Robin, right?” checking to see if she remembered my name.

“Yes! And you’re Natalie!” I said, because wonderfully, I remembered hers too.

Saying hello to a new neighbor and remembering her name? That was a small thing to be grateful for.

I will need to figure out some kind of rhythm for these strange new days. A little news checking, but not too much. A little grieving and letting the tears fall, but then maybe exploring the NYT Cooking App to discover something delicious to make for supper. Lots of time outside for sure. Time with my good neighbors, time with friends, and time spent figuring out what I can do to help, to bring light to places that are dark now.

It was the first week of Trump’s second term as president. There are people I like and admire who say that they are “cautiously optimistic” about what he will do. A family member wrote on Facebook that last Monday was the “best Monday in a long time.” I am not sure how anyone can feel that way. I do not see any reason for optimism.

I am trying to keep my mind on the verse that showed up for me in my centering prayer time the other morning, the day after the inauguration: Psalm 143:8. “Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life.”

My life, my children’s lives, the planet’s life (now that the oil and gas executives are in charge of protecting the environment).  All our lives: entrusted to a good power, a creative power, a power far greater than Trump. That’s where my hope rests tonight.