The Agonizing Wait

I don't know about you, but in this last week before the election, I'm on pins and needles.  Holding both hope and terror for what next Tuesday will bring.  I can hardly think beyond it, make any plans for myself or family, my work or the holidays, not knowing what state I, those I love, and our country will be in.  Will we be elated and relieved?  Or will be devastated, wondering how or if we can endure another term?  We’ve been wrestling with weighty questions for four years:  Are we really this kind of America?  Will we have a future as a democracy, as a planet?  If so, what kind of nation and world do we want for ourselves, our children, and future generations? Waiting, wondering, worrying about the answer that will come on November 3 (or hopefully, soon thereafter.)

I feel like I'm on hold, waiting for test results to reveal the health of our democracy.  How sick are we?  What are our treatment options and timelines?  It’s agonizing.

If that sounds too dramatic to you, I’m sorry.  It’s how I and most of the people I engage on a regular basis feel about things.  To quote one of the campaigns (and a favorite podcast), we feel like we’re in a battle for the soul of our nation.  This is not just a regular old left versus right, Democrats versus Republicans election for us.  We feel like our friends’ and neighbors’ lives, our democracy, our integrity as a nation, and our planet are on the ballot.  And if you don’t feel that way, we want to save things for you too, though we may have some lingering resentment to work through when all is said and done.

As we near another presidential Election Day, I know many of us are replaying the trauma from four years ago.  I remember joining other women in pantsuits that morning to knock on doors and get out the vote.  I led our worship circle that evening, then left with a dear friend to go to an election night party to celebrate our first female President.  Within thirty minutes, we couldn't stomach what we were seeing on the Jumbotron screen and headed our separate ways to nurse our pain in private.  I remember being racked with uncontrollable sobbing, holding Michael in the dark, worrying about what kind of nation our then two-and-a-half-year-old would inherit.  It was such a traumatic night, ushering in four years of heartbreak, outrage and bewilderment.   What’s become of us?  How can anyone tolerate, much less celebrate this woefully unfit and immoral President and the things that have happened on his watch? 

I hope and pray with every fiber of my being that we will choose another course come Tuesday.  That we will come together, putting country over party, to choose a President who is fundamentally decent and kind, empathetic and trustworthy, who has been a faithful public servant his entire life, overcoming unimaginable tragedy to channel grief into higher purpose, who still believes in the goodness and potential of America and wants to help us heal and move forward into our best years yet.  (Just watch and listen to him here; what a stark contrast.)

I am hoping, praying and working for that outcome, while trying to also prepare myself for the other.  In my most anxious moments, I offer my fear to God.  I’ve tried, aided by an image of Anne Lamott, to unwrap my tentacles and stop squirting squiddy ink all over everything, to put this election in my “God box” literally and figuratively. (From Help, Thanks, Wow:  The Three Essential Prayers)  I do ultimately and fervently believe in the God that holds us through it all, that keeps showing up and healing and redeeming things, even when we insist on a path of self-destruction.  Whatever comes, I know I will have friends and communities with whom I can lament and rage, that will show up in fierce love to comfort and support one another.  I know we will continue to pray and labor for the kind of world we believe God wants, where everyone is seen as a beloved child of God, where we work together for justice and peace, and the joy of sharing in God’s abundance. 

In this agonizing waiting period, I join with you and others in prayer.  I remember the words of Frederick Douglass:  “I prayed for freedom for twenty years, but received no answer, until I prayed with my legs.”  I’m praying with my words and my silence, my legs and my vote.  I’m praying with Stephen Mitchell’s beautiful translation of Psalm 15.

Lord, who can be trusted with power,
     and who may act in your place?
Those with a passion for justice,
     who speak the truth from their hearts;
     who have let go of selfish interests
          and grown beyond their own lives;
     who see the wretched as their family
          and the poor as their flesh and blood.
They alone are impartial
     and worthy of the people's trust.
Their compassion lights up the whole earth,
     and their kindness endures forever.

The Psalms, translations by Stephen Mitchell 

Grace and peace be with you as we pray and wait,

Kimberly