I have a million things I need to be doing - should be doing - but all I can think about is the family of the police officer killed last night in Cold Spring, about an hour north of us. He responded to a routine call, a welfare check, and was killed in an alley behind the apartment building he was responding to. They think he was ambushed, which was what I thought when I first read the initial reports.
His name was Tom Decker, and he’d been with Cold Spring/Richmond since 2006. He was a chief’s dream, according to his commanding officer. He was 31. He was married. He had four kids. And someone gunned him down in an alley, intentionally probably, though we don’t know yet why.
The media always likes to tell bad stories - stories of corruption or brutality and those are awful and should absolutely be brought to light and exposed but the true story is that most men and women in uniform are good and honest people doing hard, important work. They kiss their husbands and their wives, their kids, they go out the door and they do a job that puts them in danger pretty much every day. Those husbands and wives, those kids, they kiss their mom or dad and pray for a safe return and try not to let themselves imagine a world where there is an alternative ending.
They brought his body down 94 to the Ramsey County Medical Examiner this morning, a parade of police cars, lights and sirens clearing the way and making sure he wasn’t making the journey alone. One of the local stations had raw footage up on their website. I couldn’t watch it.
I’m not telling you to go hug a cop, but if you see one around maybe shake their hand and thank them for what they do? I know there are bad cops out there but I think about all the people in my husband’s department, all the good cops I know with huge hearts and the best of intentions and they run towards what we all run away from, every day. Every day.
Officer Decker was the 112th law enforcement officer slain in the line of duty this year. He was married. He had four kids. If you’re the praying type, maybe say one for all the people he left behind, the family and friends and coworkers and community, his whole law enforcement family, or spare a good thought. I know they could use it.
11/30/12
11/22/12
with gratitude
Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. The flavors of the day are totally my jam, and it’s really about family and food and there’s not a whole lot of external pressure to perform otherwise. And a day where you’re nudged in the direction of being reminded of how much you have in abundance, especially on the heels of what has become a consumer orgy of spending little more than a month away, is never a bad thing.
I am thankful for so much this year. For Kid C, our third and final, who scared us to our cores in the weeks after he was born but who is the happiest kid I know, and healthy and doing so, so well. For Kid B, who is in so many ways the stereotypical middle child but has a patented velociraptor shriek that guarantees he will never get lost in a crowd, who is my favorite snuggler and still wants to. For Kid A, who is still trying to find his footing with the world around him but is so scary smart and wise and compassionate.
For the husband, who is my steady rock and partner and best friend.
For my parents, still healthy, and my mom a year cancer-free, for my sister, my family immediate and extended all those amazing people in my life who may not be blood but are in all the ways that count. The best friends I could ever hope for. The Internet, for making it easier to keep those connections and to make new ones.
For jobs that allow us to provide for our family and be present in their lives, for a roof over our heads and always enough food on the table. For amazing childcare providers, a community that is dedicated to its children.
I am grateful for love, and laughter, and compassion, for hope, my faith and the faith of others, for all God’s blessings.
There are people coming later today, and two pounds of green beans to trim and I am grateful for that, too, for the gift of adopted family that leaves you no choice but to call them your own.
I’m grateful to you. Happy Thanksgiving.
I am thankful for so much this year. For Kid C, our third and final, who scared us to our cores in the weeks after he was born but who is the happiest kid I know, and healthy and doing so, so well. For Kid B, who is in so many ways the stereotypical middle child but has a patented velociraptor shriek that guarantees he will never get lost in a crowd, who is my favorite snuggler and still wants to. For Kid A, who is still trying to find his footing with the world around him but is so scary smart and wise and compassionate.
For the husband, who is my steady rock and partner and best friend.
For my parents, still healthy, and my mom a year cancer-free, for my sister, my family immediate and extended all those amazing people in my life who may not be blood but are in all the ways that count. The best friends I could ever hope for. The Internet, for making it easier to keep those connections and to make new ones.
For jobs that allow us to provide for our family and be present in their lives, for a roof over our heads and always enough food on the table. For amazing childcare providers, a community that is dedicated to its children.
I am grateful for love, and laughter, and compassion, for hope, my faith and the faith of others, for all God’s blessings.
There are people coming later today, and two pounds of green beans to trim and I am grateful for that, too, for the gift of adopted family that leaves you no choice but to call them your own.
I’m grateful to you. Happy Thanksgiving.
11/20/12
don't shoot the messenger
Or: why funeral directors aren’t your enemy.
Disclaimer: For six years I worked in funeral service, first in communications for the national association for funeral directors and then later for its foundation. I entered my employment with little knowledge of who or what funeral directors are beyond my limited personal experiences. I left with a deep and profound respect for the caliber of individual called (yes, called) to this profession and for the greater funeral service community. It was an experience that forever changed me.
Which is why I get so, so angry when I see pieces like the most recent one in Money Magazine, which you can find here. It’s the same old tired story, which is frustrating in and of itself. Funeral services cost money, quelle surprise. They always have. Some cost a lot of money. Most don’t. We live in a society where everything costs money, and I fail to understand the disconnect over why it is that those who work in funeral service should be denied the right to be compensated for their time and talents. Hospice costs money. Doctors? They cost a lot of money. But we don’t question these things. The average cost of a funeral is less than one pays for pretty much any new car. It’s less than some of my friends have paid for sound systems in their houses. Why are we up in arms over paying $10,000 to bury, you know, our parents, but don’t blink at wedding costs that are now averaging $27,000? That says more about who we are as a people than it does what funeral homes charge to cover their services.
We live in an increasingly transient society, and the relationships that used to be the natural extension of living in community are in many cases tenuous at best. One of the direct results of this is that in many communities the local family-owned funeral home is largely an unknown quantity. Where everyone used to know who to go to in their time of need, many families now have no ties in the community to help direct them to the best resources, and because we live in a culture where so many of us put off thinking about death until the last possible minute, we haven’t taken the time to do the research ourselves.
But here’s the thing: the responsibility for all that is on our shoulders. Death can come when you least expect it, yes, absolutely, but death is always coming. There is no other end to our stories. So to ignore the mechanics of that process and then rely on a complete stranger and our own grief to make weighty decisions which we may second guess once we’ve moved out of those initial stages demands some level of personal accountability from the decision-maker. But all that aside? The “fleecing of the grieving,” or however it’s phrased in whatever iteration of this tired old story is making the rounds today simply doesn’t happen with the frequency the media wants us to believe it does.
In the six years I worked for those working in funeral service I learned so much about death and dying and the people who hold our hands as we walk our loved ones through that last journey. They are compassionate, committed people who believe in what they’re doing or they wouldn’t be doing it. The hours are long, the demands both physical and mental are significant, and the pay? Honestly, it’s not that great. More often than not they go out of their way to help families have a meaningful last goodbye, no matter what the budget is. There’s no price tag for that kind of experience, and there’s no way to quantify the power of those moments.
But we are scared to death of dying, and so we continue to cast aspersions on those whose chosen work requires they embrace it. For all the time I worked for them, I can count on one hand the negative experiences I encountered, but they are, after all, human, and no one’s perfect. (See also, they weren’t NFDA members.)
You want my practical advice for how to handle end-of-life decision-making? Don’t wait ‘til the end of your life to make those decisions. I’m not telling you to plan out your funeral or pay for it advance. But get to know your local funeral directors, and understand the full picture of what it is they can do for you. Understand that there will be costs involved and, if you can, put aside some money for the same. Talk to the people you love broadly about your wishes, but leave the details up to them. It’s how they will remember you, after all.
These are good and honest people, working in a profession that gets so little respect given the enormity of the work they do every day and every night. They walk with the dead and they carry the living through what is arguably the most painful of transitions. They help husbands bury their wives, mothers bury their sons. Old men and baby girls and what the rest of us push away and leave to nightmares they tenderly care for and serve because it is what they are called to do.
Yes, I’m biased, but any reasonable person that takes the broader view should be, too. God bless them, for all they do that we cannot. I get it, I do, a lot of our anger and fear about death and dying ends up on the shoulders of those who work with it. So let’s write stories about that issue. Let’s talk about that and acknowledge that our discomfort is about so much more than money. It’s time we moved beyond that. There are real and beautiful and powerful stories to be told about funeral service. Scratch the surface, that’s all it takes to find them.
Disclaimer: For six years I worked in funeral service, first in communications for the national association for funeral directors and then later for its foundation. I entered my employment with little knowledge of who or what funeral directors are beyond my limited personal experiences. I left with a deep and profound respect for the caliber of individual called (yes, called) to this profession and for the greater funeral service community. It was an experience that forever changed me.
Which is why I get so, so angry when I see pieces like the most recent one in Money Magazine, which you can find here. It’s the same old tired story, which is frustrating in and of itself. Funeral services cost money, quelle surprise. They always have. Some cost a lot of money. Most don’t. We live in a society where everything costs money, and I fail to understand the disconnect over why it is that those who work in funeral service should be denied the right to be compensated for their time and talents. Hospice costs money. Doctors? They cost a lot of money. But we don’t question these things. The average cost of a funeral is less than one pays for pretty much any new car. It’s less than some of my friends have paid for sound systems in their houses. Why are we up in arms over paying $10,000 to bury, you know, our parents, but don’t blink at wedding costs that are now averaging $27,000? That says more about who we are as a people than it does what funeral homes charge to cover their services.
We live in an increasingly transient society, and the relationships that used to be the natural extension of living in community are in many cases tenuous at best. One of the direct results of this is that in many communities the local family-owned funeral home is largely an unknown quantity. Where everyone used to know who to go to in their time of need, many families now have no ties in the community to help direct them to the best resources, and because we live in a culture where so many of us put off thinking about death until the last possible minute, we haven’t taken the time to do the research ourselves.
But here’s the thing: the responsibility for all that is on our shoulders. Death can come when you least expect it, yes, absolutely, but death is always coming. There is no other end to our stories. So to ignore the mechanics of that process and then rely on a complete stranger and our own grief to make weighty decisions which we may second guess once we’ve moved out of those initial stages demands some level of personal accountability from the decision-maker. But all that aside? The “fleecing of the grieving,” or however it’s phrased in whatever iteration of this tired old story is making the rounds today simply doesn’t happen with the frequency the media wants us to believe it does.
In the six years I worked for those working in funeral service I learned so much about death and dying and the people who hold our hands as we walk our loved ones through that last journey. They are compassionate, committed people who believe in what they’re doing or they wouldn’t be doing it. The hours are long, the demands both physical and mental are significant, and the pay? Honestly, it’s not that great. More often than not they go out of their way to help families have a meaningful last goodbye, no matter what the budget is. There’s no price tag for that kind of experience, and there’s no way to quantify the power of those moments.
But we are scared to death of dying, and so we continue to cast aspersions on those whose chosen work requires they embrace it. For all the time I worked for them, I can count on one hand the negative experiences I encountered, but they are, after all, human, and no one’s perfect. (See also, they weren’t NFDA members.)
You want my practical advice for how to handle end-of-life decision-making? Don’t wait ‘til the end of your life to make those decisions. I’m not telling you to plan out your funeral or pay for it advance. But get to know your local funeral directors, and understand the full picture of what it is they can do for you. Understand that there will be costs involved and, if you can, put aside some money for the same. Talk to the people you love broadly about your wishes, but leave the details up to them. It’s how they will remember you, after all.
These are good and honest people, working in a profession that gets so little respect given the enormity of the work they do every day and every night. They walk with the dead and they carry the living through what is arguably the most painful of transitions. They help husbands bury their wives, mothers bury their sons. Old men and baby girls and what the rest of us push away and leave to nightmares they tenderly care for and serve because it is what they are called to do.
Yes, I’m biased, but any reasonable person that takes the broader view should be, too. God bless them, for all they do that we cannot. I get it, I do, a lot of our anger and fear about death and dying ends up on the shoulders of those who work with it. So let’s write stories about that issue. Let’s talk about that and acknowledge that our discomfort is about so much more than money. It’s time we moved beyond that. There are real and beautiful and powerful stories to be told about funeral service. Scratch the surface, that’s all it takes to find them.
11/15/12
in the desert. again.
It’s way too early. In from walking the dog, after a night of a lot of tossing and turning and sleep that was a battle with no clear victor, I tried to nap for a bit on the couch but that’s not happening either. It’s cold outside, now. We had our first real snow on Monday and I’m reasonably tolerant of the cold, kind of cold weather people, the husband and I. But the short block I walked the dog was bracing, and all I could think about as I tucked back into our home and turned up the heat in advance of little feet wandering out was all of the people out there, all of the families, for whom this is merely the beginning of a long, painful and dangerous stretch of time because where they lay their heads each night is uncertain.
I posted an article a few weeks back from The National Journal about the complete disregard both presidential campaigns had given to the issue of poverty. In a comment on Facebook an old friend who now teaches in a school district hit particularly hard by the recession wrote, “We have children at my school who cried when they found out there was no school on Thursday and Friday this week. They don’t have food at home and school is where they eat.”
I cried when I read it, the kind of crying where you bite the heel of your hand because you’re trying not to make any noise, and I’m not sure that the intermittent crying that has happened in the weeks subsequent isn’t because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
A week ago Tuesday I stayed up into the wee hours watching election returns come in. The man I thought the better choice for our country was successful in his re-election campaign. Here in Minnesota, two constitutional amendments were defeated that were, in my opinion, serious threats to civil rights. I went to bed happy, and woke up tired and hopeful. Several sunrises later, I’m still bone-tired, and if my hope were a halo it would be tarnished and hanging a little off-kilter.
See, I had really, really hoped that in the days following the election some of the bitterness and divisiveness of the election would subside. People need time to grieve, absolutely, and people were passionate about this campaign in so many ways and for many there was a very real and profound sense of loss. But what I have not seen, what I am not seeing, are either side really reaching to embrace the other. There is so much absolute hatred out there, leveraging the anonymity of the Internet to magnify itself and grow unchecked. If the Devil exists, he created the technology for comment boards.
A friend of mine forwarded me a message from a pastor in Texas, who wrote to his congregation immediately after the election. His missive was not one of peacemaking, it was apocalyptic. America had broken its covenant with God-as-King. The End Times will be shortly upon us. Jesus will come again, and we’re all going to suffer a lot for the journey.
We heard a lot of talk on the campaign trail about the middle class, preserving a comfortable way of life, but I can’t say in anything I’ve ever studied that Jesus had much concern for the same. Now poverty, on the other hand, and unlike either presidential campaign, Jesus had a lot to say about. I know we like to hear what we like to hear, and cherry-picking the Bible seems to be a favorite pastime of both the religious right and the religious left, but if you look at the text, He wasn’t forgiving of people for whom protecting their comfortable lifestyle was the A1 priority. If you’re looking for some recognition for giving to charity, the Old Testament throws you some shade (irony!), but Jesus. Nope. In Matthew He tells us that if we wish to be complete, we should go and sell our possessions and give them to the poor, and go and follow Him.
It’s something I’ve been wrestling with for a long time, how to live in this world and be the kind of Christian that Jesus seems pretty clear He expects of His followers. I don’t have a lot of “stuff,” I’ve never placed any real value on accumulating the same. The stuff in my life that matters are the people that occupy it, the family I was born into and the family I’ve made over the years. But I have an abundance relative to so, so many and that weighs more heavily on me now than it ever has before. There are so many hungry, there are so many in need. They are strangers, they are my neighbors. But more and more we build walls around what is ours, literally and metaphysically, and shore up our foundations against “the other.”
At some point, it became more about not just providing enough for ourselves so that we have what we need, it became about having what we want. We don’t exist in a vacuum. The money we make, the things we accumulate - they’re not God’s reward for our virtue, but a pool of resources made possible by the work of many. If you have to vilify someone to justify having more than them, something has gone deeply, desperately wrong.
I was at an informal gathering Saturday night and it was lovely, absolutely. We ate delicious cheeses and drank spendy wines and there was so much we could have talked about - so many big and weighty and important things - but the conversations were safe and in my head I was screaming because I am so hungry for more. We are called to be more.
Maybe that pastor in Austin is right. Maybe the end is upon us, but I have to believe it is not because we have as a country, in his words, embraced socialism. If the Big Man Upstairs decides to call time on this little experiment called humanity I suspect It is because we have continued to isolate ourselves from one another, we have turned our backs on the hungry and the hurting, cast strangers as enemies and hardened our hearts against those who are not carbon copies of ourselves. I’m not using the global “we” here. I’m talking about myself, too We say prayers in our civic life that are meaningless platitudes, empty of intention because we cannot or will not do what is required of us to make good on them.
I have always been in something of a wrestling match with my faith. I have always had questions and been searching for answers, for as long as I can remember. But the last time I was this uncomfortable in my faith, we took separate vacations for a while. This time is different though, this time the discomfort is not in a perception that my faith has turned its back on me, but that I have turned my back on it. Jesus is pretty clear in what he asks of us, we who have so much. And responding to that call by working harder to protect what is in our own coffers seems willfully ignorant at best.
There are so many who are hungry and hurting and desperate and cold and they are reaching out for us. We are reaching out for each other. I am called, we are called. But for the life of me - God help me - I don’t know how to answer. I don’t know how to be who He asks me to be, and yet I can no longer pretend not to understand just how much He is asking.
Philippians 1, 3-5 says: I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy.
I do. Every day, with joy. No matter how far apart we are, literally or metaphysically, I hope you pray for me, too.
I posted an article a few weeks back from The National Journal about the complete disregard both presidential campaigns had given to the issue of poverty. In a comment on Facebook an old friend who now teaches in a school district hit particularly hard by the recession wrote, “We have children at my school who cried when they found out there was no school on Thursday and Friday this week. They don’t have food at home and school is where they eat.”
I cried when I read it, the kind of crying where you bite the heel of your hand because you’re trying not to make any noise, and I’m not sure that the intermittent crying that has happened in the weeks subsequent isn’t because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
A week ago Tuesday I stayed up into the wee hours watching election returns come in. The man I thought the better choice for our country was successful in his re-election campaign. Here in Minnesota, two constitutional amendments were defeated that were, in my opinion, serious threats to civil rights. I went to bed happy, and woke up tired and hopeful. Several sunrises later, I’m still bone-tired, and if my hope were a halo it would be tarnished and hanging a little off-kilter.
See, I had really, really hoped that in the days following the election some of the bitterness and divisiveness of the election would subside. People need time to grieve, absolutely, and people were passionate about this campaign in so many ways and for many there was a very real and profound sense of loss. But what I have not seen, what I am not seeing, are either side really reaching to embrace the other. There is so much absolute hatred out there, leveraging the anonymity of the Internet to magnify itself and grow unchecked. If the Devil exists, he created the technology for comment boards.
A friend of mine forwarded me a message from a pastor in Texas, who wrote to his congregation immediately after the election. His missive was not one of peacemaking, it was apocalyptic. America had broken its covenant with God-as-King. The End Times will be shortly upon us. Jesus will come again, and we’re all going to suffer a lot for the journey.
We heard a lot of talk on the campaign trail about the middle class, preserving a comfortable way of life, but I can’t say in anything I’ve ever studied that Jesus had much concern for the same. Now poverty, on the other hand, and unlike either presidential campaign, Jesus had a lot to say about. I know we like to hear what we like to hear, and cherry-picking the Bible seems to be a favorite pastime of both the religious right and the religious left, but if you look at the text, He wasn’t forgiving of people for whom protecting their comfortable lifestyle was the A1 priority. If you’re looking for some recognition for giving to charity, the Old Testament throws you some shade (irony!), but Jesus. Nope. In Matthew He tells us that if we wish to be complete, we should go and sell our possessions and give them to the poor, and go and follow Him.
It’s something I’ve been wrestling with for a long time, how to live in this world and be the kind of Christian that Jesus seems pretty clear He expects of His followers. I don’t have a lot of “stuff,” I’ve never placed any real value on accumulating the same. The stuff in my life that matters are the people that occupy it, the family I was born into and the family I’ve made over the years. But I have an abundance relative to so, so many and that weighs more heavily on me now than it ever has before. There are so many hungry, there are so many in need. They are strangers, they are my neighbors. But more and more we build walls around what is ours, literally and metaphysically, and shore up our foundations against “the other.”
At some point, it became more about not just providing enough for ourselves so that we have what we need, it became about having what we want. We don’t exist in a vacuum. The money we make, the things we accumulate - they’re not God’s reward for our virtue, but a pool of resources made possible by the work of many. If you have to vilify someone to justify having more than them, something has gone deeply, desperately wrong.
I was at an informal gathering Saturday night and it was lovely, absolutely. We ate delicious cheeses and drank spendy wines and there was so much we could have talked about - so many big and weighty and important things - but the conversations were safe and in my head I was screaming because I am so hungry for more. We are called to be more.
Maybe that pastor in Austin is right. Maybe the end is upon us, but I have to believe it is not because we have as a country, in his words, embraced socialism. If the Big Man Upstairs decides to call time on this little experiment called humanity I suspect It is because we have continued to isolate ourselves from one another, we have turned our backs on the hungry and the hurting, cast strangers as enemies and hardened our hearts against those who are not carbon copies of ourselves. I’m not using the global “we” here. I’m talking about myself, too We say prayers in our civic life that are meaningless platitudes, empty of intention because we cannot or will not do what is required of us to make good on them.
I have always been in something of a wrestling match with my faith. I have always had questions and been searching for answers, for as long as I can remember. But the last time I was this uncomfortable in my faith, we took separate vacations for a while. This time is different though, this time the discomfort is not in a perception that my faith has turned its back on me, but that I have turned my back on it. Jesus is pretty clear in what he asks of us, we who have so much. And responding to that call by working harder to protect what is in our own coffers seems willfully ignorant at best.
There are so many who are hungry and hurting and desperate and cold and they are reaching out for us. We are reaching out for each other. I am called, we are called. But for the life of me - God help me - I don’t know how to answer. I don’t know how to be who He asks me to be, and yet I can no longer pretend not to understand just how much He is asking.
Philippians 1, 3-5 says: I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy.
I do. Every day, with joy. No matter how far apart we are, literally or metaphysically, I hope you pray for me, too.
11/7/12
forward
Last night, the voters here in Minnesota, my home, said no to voter ID, said no to a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage. Last night, my president stood at a podium in Chicago and said, “I believe we can seize this future together because we are not as divided as our politics suggests. We’re not as cynical as the pundits believe. We are greater than the sum of our individual ambitions, and we remain more than a collection of red states and blue states. We are and forever will be the United States of America.” I am tired and, frankly, overwhelmed, but I am waking up hopeful, and no matter who you supported I hope you are, too. Good morning, America. Let’s get to work.
11/5/12
my election day prayer
So tomorrow is the big day, and my stomach is in knots. I don’t expect I will sleep much tonight, and tomorrow night’s going to be shot, too, no matter what the outcome.
Whatever happens, this is my election day prayer. Or maybe a prayer for the morning after? That probably makes sense. I pray that whoever wins, whoever holds the highest office of the land, whoever takes control of the House and the Senate, whoever rises to leadership in statehouses across this country, that they put aside partisanship for the sake of partisanship, that they come to the table ready to work with each other, not against each other, for the people they are elected to represent. Not half the people, not the majority of them, but all of them. I’m so tired of party ruling above all else, of political stalemates in which one party blames the other blames the other as we all fall further down the rabbit hole.
I love my country so much. I love its rich history, the things about America that make me want to celebrate, and the things that make me want to cry. I believe we can do better for each other and I want desperately – desperately – to believe we still want to. But it’s not just about who we cast a vote for every four years, or two years, every six. It’s about what we do in between and I hope and pray that the people that have worked so hard during this campaign cycle continue their campaigns. Not for an individual candidate (please God, no), but to do the work we so desperately need to do to help the people of this country get back on their feet again. We may philosophically disagree on the strategies to get there, but we all compromise in our daily lives and I hope beyond the telling of it that we can find that same space again in our public discourse and our public policy.
There are kids out there that are hungry, there are vets that are homeless, there are families that have done everything they were supposed to do who can’t even manage to make it paycheck-to-paycheck and we have to do better for them. For ourselves. Whatever happens tomorrow, whoever wins, I wish we could all commit to doing that work. To finding our common ground rather than drawing more lines in the sand.
Just like Mulder, I want to believe.
And with apologies to those for whom the prayer thing is over the top, a particularly apt one from the Book of Common Prayer:
O Lord our Governor, bless the leaders of our land, that we may be a people at peace among ourselves and a blessing to other nations of the earth.
Lord, keep this nation under your care.
To the President and members of the Cabinet, to Governors of States, Mayors of Cities, and to all in administrative authority, grant wisdom and grace in the exercise of their duties.
Give grace to your servants, O Lord.
To Senators and Representatives, and those who make our laws in States, Cities, and Towns, give courage, wisdom, and foresight to provide for the needs of all our people, and to fulfill our obligations in the community of nations.
Give grace to your servants, O Lord.
To the Judges and officers of our Courts give understanding and integrity, that human rights may be safeguarded and justice served.
Give grace to your servants, O Lord.
And finally, teach our people to rely on your strength and to accept their responsibilities to their fellow citizens, that they may elect trustworthy leaders and make wise decisions for the well-being of our society; that we may serve you
faithfully in our generation and honor your holy Name.
For yours is the kingdom, O Lord, and you are exalted as
head above all. Amen.
Amen.
Whatever happens, this is my election day prayer. Or maybe a prayer for the morning after? That probably makes sense. I pray that whoever wins, whoever holds the highest office of the land, whoever takes control of the House and the Senate, whoever rises to leadership in statehouses across this country, that they put aside partisanship for the sake of partisanship, that they come to the table ready to work with each other, not against each other, for the people they are elected to represent. Not half the people, not the majority of them, but all of them. I’m so tired of party ruling above all else, of political stalemates in which one party blames the other blames the other as we all fall further down the rabbit hole.
I love my country so much. I love its rich history, the things about America that make me want to celebrate, and the things that make me want to cry. I believe we can do better for each other and I want desperately – desperately – to believe we still want to. But it’s not just about who we cast a vote for every four years, or two years, every six. It’s about what we do in between and I hope and pray that the people that have worked so hard during this campaign cycle continue their campaigns. Not for an individual candidate (please God, no), but to do the work we so desperately need to do to help the people of this country get back on their feet again. We may philosophically disagree on the strategies to get there, but we all compromise in our daily lives and I hope beyond the telling of it that we can find that same space again in our public discourse and our public policy.
There are kids out there that are hungry, there are vets that are homeless, there are families that have done everything they were supposed to do who can’t even manage to make it paycheck-to-paycheck and we have to do better for them. For ourselves. Whatever happens tomorrow, whoever wins, I wish we could all commit to doing that work. To finding our common ground rather than drawing more lines in the sand.
Just like Mulder, I want to believe.
And with apologies to those for whom the prayer thing is over the top, a particularly apt one from the Book of Common Prayer:
O Lord our Governor, bless the leaders of our land, that we may be a people at peace among ourselves and a blessing to other nations of the earth.
Lord, keep this nation under your care.
To the President and members of the Cabinet, to Governors of States, Mayors of Cities, and to all in administrative authority, grant wisdom and grace in the exercise of their duties.
Give grace to your servants, O Lord.
To Senators and Representatives, and those who make our laws in States, Cities, and Towns, give courage, wisdom, and foresight to provide for the needs of all our people, and to fulfill our obligations in the community of nations.
Give grace to your servants, O Lord.
To the Judges and officers of our Courts give understanding and integrity, that human rights may be safeguarded and justice served.
Give grace to your servants, O Lord.
And finally, teach our people to rely on your strength and to accept their responsibilities to their fellow citizens, that they may elect trustworthy leaders and make wise decisions for the well-being of our society; that we may serve you
faithfully in our generation and honor your holy Name.
For yours is the kingdom, O Lord, and you are exalted as
head above all. Amen.
Amen.
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