Election Lament

I’ve found plenty of ways to procrastinate this evening. I’ve been sitting at the computer, thinking about writing. But first? I ate a few bites of chocolate ice cream out of the carton. I drank the last of my can of sparkling water. I got another one out of the refrigerator, because hydration is important. I went to the Kohl’s website and spent some of the money that I’d saved for their annual Black Friday sale, which opened this weekend, even though we are still technically weeks away from that day. Every year, they have jeans that I like and other items of clothing that I prefer not to mention on sale. Every year, I stock up right about now. Online shopping is easier than writing, especially writing after a week like this one.

Another confession: Grocery Outlet had a few Costco-sized bags of Skinny Pop left on the shelf this week. When I stopped at the store late Wednesday after work, I bought another one. Even though I had pledged that I would do my best to avoid those things, being that I find it difficult to limit myself to a serving or two and can stress eat through an entire bag in a remarkably short time. “To heck with that,” I thought. “If there has ever been a week when I can justify plowing my way through a huge bag of Skinny Pop, it’s now.”

Because this week was one for the history books.

You might argue that I’m being overly dramatic, but it feels like Tuesday’s election ushered in Good Friday, but now it’s Saturday, and Sunday will be years away (at least four, but possibly more depending on how our democracy weathers these challenges). I have long loved Tony Campolo’s “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s Comin’!” sermon, one of my favorite things to watch around Easter. You can watch it here:  Tony Campolo “It’s Friday!” Clip. Saturday was a rotten day for Jesus’ disciples, back in the day. They watched Jesus die, and that was terrible, and then they woke up on Saturday and He was still dead, and that was horrific, but then Sunday came! They only had to make it through the weekend and they got to see Him again. They got resurrection.

We woke up Wednesday to news that Donald Trump had been reelected. I think you know how deeply this gutted me. This definitely did not feel like resurrection. Also, the fact that about 80 percent of white Evangelical Christians supported him (a statistic I found on a PBS.org) is mind-blowing. I just do not get it. Do not. How ironic that this strange and confusing time has seemingly been ushered in by so many people who say they love and follow Jesus. They love Jesus but do they love our warming planet or their neighbors who are immigrants or those who are LGBTQ+? Maybe not so much.

Which does not seem very Jesus-like to me.

I know that all things work together for good according to that old book, the Bible, and believe that Julian of Norwich was right when she said that “all will be well.” But I’ve had dark thoughts this week. I don’t know if I will ever have biological grandchildren, and maybe that’s OK. It feels safer not to bring any more innocent babies into this mess. Especially if they happen to be girl babies. Now, if either of my children want to adopt a child? That’d be different.  I grieve for my children, that they are young adults in this world of climate change, patriarchy, misogyny, and racism.

At my Centering Prayer circle on Wednesday, just hours after the election, there was a palpable sense of grief. We gathered, we prayed, and most of us cried. I needed to be there. I think that community, beloved community, will be the thing that saves me (that saves all of us) these next years. I need my Wednesday prayer group, people who are as gutted as I am. Also my friends. I went to a birthday party the other night. We ate Thai curry, had mock-tails, played Charades. For the hours I was there, I almost forgot my sadness over the election.

I was lost in a worry storm again this morning, standing at my kitchen window, thinking about a dark and frightening future. Then I noticed a hummingbird feeding on the red flowers. This almost made me weep. How do I stay in the moment, which is the only one I have? The cat snores. There is leftover curry in the refrigerator from my friend’s party last night. The sun is shining. Biscuit needs to go for a walk. There are blackberry vines to wrangle. There is so much beauty here. Still. So much. I remember. I remember that I am not alone. We have each other. We have each other.