Together, We Can

This has been a landmark week for me, filled with highs and lows, division and unity.  It’s a tough reality, but it’s one we all know and experience: joy and pain, light and dark, laughter and tears. It’s the natural dichotomy of life that we’re all subjected to, but these contrasting experiences often teach us important lessons worth a bit of reflection.

In this week I’ve lived with both fear and hope, and I’ve learned a thing or two.

On Thursday night, my church and all the other churches in the same area of Charlotte came together for a service to honor Christian Unity. There were Catholics, Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, and Baptists. It was pretty evident that there was difference in the room, but we were quickly reminded that there’s more that brings us together than divides us. My pastor happened to offer the message that night, and it was one that I needed more than I think I knew, at the time.

He was quick to offer a relevant non-biblical story that I won’t take time to share with you here, but it ended with the message of trust.  All too often, we avoid tough conversations with those we love and with those we don’t understand, and he assured us that perhaps we could all grow from having a thoughtful conversation with someone we might disagree with. Can we trust ourselves to truly open our minds and hearts to hear every voice? Can we trust that others will listen to our perspective? Can we trust in the process of a loving, truthful exchange of ideas? And what do we risk losing when this trust is compromised? What causes us to shed our ability or willingness to trust?

This value of trust has remained with me, and I think it is the underlying challenge facing our nation and us in our own communities and families.

On Saturday, I had the fortunate opportunity to participate in Charlotte’s March for Women. It was wonderful and beautiful and awe-inspiring and hair-raising. I walked with friends, colleagues, friends of friends, strangers, children, families, and pastors…. It was peaceful, and energizing. We held our signs high, and we held each other close.  We stood still, for longer than we thought we would – anxious to move forward together. Someone joked that it was symbolic of the slow walk to progress, and we all laughed together knowing the hard truth all too well.

And then, we made our way to the street. Organizers told us to stay on the sidewalks, as the march didn’t have the permits to close the streets. But it’s hard to stay on the sidewalks when there are so many friends, colleagues, friends of friends, strangers, children, families, and pastors. In fact, we closed the streets down. We walked together. We smiled, and sang, and shouted. We trusted each other to keep the movement peaceful, and we had trust that each and every living being there on this special day was there for their own perfect reason(s).

For me, this movement we’re embarking on is really about trust. Can I trust those in power to make decisions that are good for all Americans? Can I trust that those who were elected will listen to the will of those they represent – even of those who didn’t elect them? Can I trust that those who disagree with me will hold those in power to some common standards of decency, intellect, justice, and truth, despite party lines?

Right now, I’m not so sure. And if I’m being honest, I don’t have much confidence in the next four years, at least in those who hold the highest seats of power. I would like to trust that things will be ok, but I can’t.

However… I do trust that each and every person who showed up yesterday, across this great nation and world, had a special, life-affirming moment in their march. I trust that each of them will embark upon those brave conversations with each other, and hopefully with someone who may not understand his/her perspective. I trust that they stood and walked next to a stranger and smiled, with a knowing glimmer of hope in their eyes that our voices mattered, and that millions were paying attention. I trust that the forward momentum that was created on those streets and sidewalks is still moving.

I also trust that each and everyone who showed up yesterday will vote. I trust that they will make sure that others vote. I trust that they are teaching their children to think for themselves and to understand the value of their own voice. I trust that they hold close their patriotism and their deep love for this country. I trust that this movement will continue. It just has to.

Together, we can trust in one another. Together, we have hope. Together, we can.

I’m At A Loss

So I haven’t written in awhile. Perhaps it’s a combination of writer’s block, writer’s fear, or perhaps writer’s procrastination. Whatever the reason, the page has been blank for too long.

I’m at a loss for words, you could say.

But tonight I feel like writing.

Her birthday comes Saturday, and in my journey of grief, I’ve decided – with the help and encouragement from someone who doesn’t really know me much at all – that perhaps I should mark the occasion with words. In these moments, people work through their skills. I’m a singer, but not a composer. I’m certainly not a painter, for my dad and brother hoarded those genetic prizes (though, in my heart of hearts, I really want to learn). So here I sit. My laptop and me. We’ll see how this goes.

…

Tonight, Mike and I went to see “La La Land.” Those of you who have known me for even a short time know my love for musicals, both on stage and screen. There’s something about those moments that become too big for characters to simply say what they mean. See, they, too, are at a loss… for words, but not for song. The heart of what they mean, and what they feel, can only be expressed in melodies and chords.

And maybe that’s why my page has been blank. The last time I wrote was for her, and for you. I had purpose with my writing. To update. Explain. To thank. Maybe the moment has become big enough that I need to try on writing for me. What if my song, is this page? To honor.

In the movie there’s one scene (and no spoilers here, so read along) where the main character, Mia, is telling a story to someone. The story is unimportant here, but the main message is that sometimes in life, bad things, unexplainable things, painful things happen. And what’s the end of the story? “We just have to wait, and see.”

…

Our great nation, my home, the home of my grandparents and theirs, the home to my immigrant in-laws, your home - either permanent or temporary - is also at a loss, so to speak. I’m not intending to be overly political here, because that’s not my point, not my intent. But change is hard, and this change and the months leading to it has been difficult and agonizing, to say the least. I thought tonight, that perhaps, we’re just at a loss.

At a loss for attentive dialogue. At a loss for an agenda larger than our own egos. At a loss for what happens next. At a loss for hope, that the values we teach our children will outlive us, and them. At a loss for what can’t be undone. At a loss for what might fall to pieces. At a loss, because maybe, in the end, no one has any good answers.

So what do we do with these feelings of loss? I’ll tell you what I’m doing.

Each day the sun comes up again, thank God. Each day, we get a chance to begin anew. We wipe away the tears we cried, maybe even just hours ago. We laugh and celebrate. We enjoy the feeling of the warm sun on our mo(u)rning faces. We bask in the glow of the setting sun and its pink horizon. We turn the music up really loud, or enjoy the peaceful quiet of silence. We remember days that made us love so hard it hurts, and look forward to the days ahead where love will again surround us. We tell stories. We watch musicals, and good movies, and silly television. We read good books. We eat pie, and know it’s just not good enough. We pay attention. We wonder. We cling, and we hope. We pray.

Tonight, we write.

…

So what happens to this feeling of loss? I don’t know. Mia’s short quip is stuck in me, though. Maybe we’re not supposed to know how the story ends, but so often we want life to be like our favorite big-screen movies. We love a happy ending. But the hard truth of it all is that none of us knows how this loss…for words…for moments… for feelings, ends. We can’t. It’s not in the script. And sometimes, the best stories take unexpected, unimaginable turns. 

So, maybe we’re just supposed unleash our hearts and surrender to the big moment of loss. We sing, or dance, or draw, or write.

In the end, we’ll just have to wait and see.