#ThePostcardProject

On November 6th, I posted a blog titled Dear Us.

I wrote it as a way of passing the time as the election results were still coming in. I knew that regardless of the outcome, there is serious work to be done if we are to redeem our democracy. And yes, it is work to be done by our elected officials, but if there is any hope of success, it is work that must be done by all of us.

In that blog I imagined sending a handwritten postcard to every member of Congress, calling on them to stop blaming those across the proverbial aisle and start working together for the common good. Because that is what I want them to do. I believe the majority of Americans want them to do that too.

Walking down our road the next morning my husband said, “Mol, we should do it. We should handwrite postcards to all 535 members of Congress. I also think you should do something with this idea.”

And with those words, #ThePostcardProject was born.

The idea is to get as many people as possible, from all across the country and the political spectrum to send a clear message to Congress. Stop blaming each other and start working together to build a country that works for all of us. Period.

Today I am inviting you to not only join me in my efforts, but to invite as many others as you can to join in as well. Ask friends. Ask family. Ask neighbors and co-workers, teachers and students, athletic teams and faith communities. Ask any and everyone you can.

The time to come together as a country is now, and #ThePostcardProject is one way to start.

Will you join me?

Dear Us,

Tiring of waiting for the election results to become official, I started composing an open letter to Congress.

It was more like an open postcard.

Dear Elected Officials,

Stop blaming the other side and get to work building a country that works for all of us. And if you won’t do that, shame on you.

But before I can send that postcard to our elected officials, I’d better mail one to myself. And while I’m at it, to every other person who calls this broken country of ours home.

If we don’t stop blaming the other side and get to work building a country that works for all of us, then shame on us.

Because It isn’t just up to them, it’s up to all of us.

Grace Y'all

We are going to need a lot of grace y’all.

One way or another, we are in for a wild ride after this election. And by all accounts, it could get pretty ugly out there. Much of what happens post election is out of our control. The one thing that is completely under our control, the only thing that ever really is, is our response.

Let’s not contribute to the ugliness. Let’s make a pact with ourselves to bring the best of who we are to each other, and to each and every day. Because that is what it’s going to take, no matter how things shake out.

Like I said, we’re going to need a lot of grace.

Let it be so.

Amen.

Plowing It Under

We are in the middle of a major landscaping project, including the installation of a sprinkler system and the addition of actual real grass for the lawn. Last week the landscaping crew arrived and got to work. The very first step was to completely till the soil. Using a powerful rototiller, all of the existing grass, if you could even call it that, was plowed under, and two huge truckloads of compost were added to enrich the soil. Sprinkler pipe has been laid, and soon new grass seed will go in.

What we’ve lived with wasn’t working. It was an eyesore, provided little protection against a wildfire should one breakout, and the health of what little grass we had declined more every year. There was no way of getting something different, something new, something better, without plowing under the old and starting over with something new.

Currently, however, it’s nothing but a mess. A dry, dirty, dusty mess, and other than the promise of something better to come, there is nothing beautiful about it now. In fact, it’s downright ugly. But if all goes as planned, come next spring, we just might have a beautiful healthy new lawn.

It is hard to see anything these days without drawing a parallel to the state of the world, starting with our own country. Metaphors for how we got here, where we need to go, and how to get there abound. Our new lawn project is no exception.

What we’ve lived with as a country isn’t working and hasn’t been working for a long time. It is an eyesore, provides little protection for those who really need it, and the health of what we do have is declining more every year. Our only hope is to do the hard work of plowing under the old, enriching the soil beneath our feet, sowing the seeds of liberty and justice—for all—and then diligently tending what we’ve planted.

To grow our country into something beautiful and worthy of respect will require individual and collective work, and it will be a mess. A dry, dirty, dusty mess, and other than the promise of something better to come, there will be nothing beautiful about it for now. In fact, it will probably be downright ugly. But come sometime in the future, maybe, just maybe, we can grow something beautiful and healthy together.

The Guy In The Camo-Hat

We are all one family who have forgotten who we are.

~ Rhonda V. Magee - The Inner Work of Racial Justice

He walked into my favorite local farm store just as I was about to check out with my basket full of produce, birdseed, and farm-fresh eggs. Tall and imposing with a long beard fashioned into what is sometimes referred to a Viking beard, the expression on his face was anything but warm and friendly. He was dressed in khaki hunting pants and a short-sleeve t-shirt, a camo hat pulled low over his eyes. And, he was packing a semi-automatic pistol on his hip. Accompanied by a woman wearing a mask, he had a young German Shepard on a leash. The woman with him was small in stature and, to my eye, seemed timid and submissive, as if she had acquiesced any personal power and agency to him.

I was grateful that I was wearing the mask that I diligently use during these strange and scary COVID-19 times. Thankful that I can do even this simple small thing to protect my fellow citizens, yes, but also grateful that he was unable to see the look on my face—a look that would have let him know that I knew his story and was disgusted by it. Everything about this guy in the camo-hat smacked to me of white supremacy, white nationalism, an unflinching commitment to the least restrictive interpretation of Second Amendment rights, and the relegation of women to their place behind men. I could feel my anger rising up as I considered all the ways in which what this man surely stood for are undermining our country and threatening our democracy. How, with people like him on the rise, can we have a shred of hope for ever achieving “liberty and justice for all”?

Climbing back into our car my thoughts continued to unspool about why people feel the need to wear a gun in public, not to mention a semi-automatic one. What felt like low-level adrenaline coursed through my body as I continued to focus on all the things I imagined when encountering the guy in the camo-hat. This went on all afternoon as we went about our bi-weekly essential activities trip into town.

And then it dawned on me.

I knew nothing about the guy in the camo-hat.

Not his name, the cards life had dealt him, or how he has chosen to play them.

Nothing.

In the time it would have taken him to draw his weapon, I had made up a story about him based on my own stereotypes and biases, and then proceeded to believe every imaginary word. It was the kind of story that separates us from our fellow human beings. The fear-based story of Us vs Them. The weaponized story that is undermining our country and threatening our democracy.

What if his story wasn’t anything like the one I had been telling myself since I first laid eyes on him. What if he was an off-duty policeman whose family had been threatened due to an earlier arrest and conviction? What if he was veteran committed to training therapy dogs for military members who were living with trauma-induced PTSD? What if the woman he was with wore a mask because she had a compromised immune system from treatment for cancer? What if she stayed close to his side because he was the love of her life who had seen her through her illness?

What if?

I can remember the exact spot on the road when this new story made it’s way into my closed and biased heart. There was a perceptible change in my body. Everything softened and opened up. My heart made room for this man I didn’t know. Like me, is he afraid for our country, and if so, why? Like me, does he love his family and friends with a love that runs deep and wide? Like me, has he been battered and bruised by painful life experiences? Like me, does he have knee-jerk reactions to others as a way to protect himself from those he fears?

I may never learn his real story.

It is certainly possible that the story I made up has a loud ring of truth to it. Even if it does, I can only hope that my encounter with the guy in the camo-hat will help me remember what so many of us seem to have forgotten. We are family, and we belong to each other. Which is why, tomorrow when I head out on a nearby logging road for a hike, I will be sure and wear my favorite hat to help me remember.

We are family.

We belong to each other.