A lot of news came out on the national political front today.
Some in my community are absolutely heartbroken about it. My heart breaks with them. As I project into the future, I imagine that most of us will be okay; but that is mostly because of the margin we have financially and our fortunate positions as citizens of this country. Others who have fewer choices will feel these policies much more.
Others in my community likely couldn’t be more excited about the developments in Washington. My heart breaks for them too – but for different reasons.
A confession: I have stress eaten soft serve ice cream for the last three days as I have listened to the news and ruminated on the pain that so many of folks on the margins will experience as a result of the policies being forged – people I have come to call friends. I worry for Julia as well.
I felt so very heavy today thinking about the decisions made by policymakers so far away and the implications of those decisions. Some will be enriched, others will be relatively unaffected and others devastated. And the people who made those decisions will likely be just fine.
But for those of my friends who are scared and disappointed and grieving right now, I found unexpected solace as I did a few backyard chores after dinner.
Julia and I were watering the shrubs and flowers – including the six potted sunflowers that she had grown from seed as a part of her eighth grade science experiment. Three of them are now taller than she is and are just beginning to bud.
Julia had gone inside and I stopped for a moment to take in the summer air and feel the sun and maybe grieve a little.
But I stared into one of those sunflower buds, about three inches in diameter, with the sun hitting it from behind. It was just beginning to bloom, but there was much of its inside that was still preparing to open into its fullness.
And for a moment, I was captivated by the wonder of it all.
Julia had put seeds in the dirt twelve weeks before; and now I was staring into something that was clearly not a seed, but beautiful and uniquely designed to produce more seeds. The sun that illuminated it was going down into a warm evening as the fireflies rose from the grass. And the sun would return the following morning.
Silly? Maudlin? Disconnected from the reality of this frightening political moment?
Perhaps.
But in that moment, staring at a silly sunflower, I was reminded that, despite everything that feels wrong, there is still so very much in this world that is going right. And that hope was fuel for this parched soul. 
Friends – this adventure is still unfolding. Love promises redemption if we are willing to cling to hope, rest and regroup after a temporary defeat, find joy again, and take up the cause. Again.
Grieve. But grieve with purpose.
Take time and stare into the wonder that is unfolding in a Michigan summer. Watch the fireflies rise from the meadow at sunset. Take in the squeals of surprise and laughter of children playing with sparklers in the twilight.
Hell, eat some ice cream.
Let Grace enter into you to soothe the disappointment and sweep out the bitterness. Though disappointment is real, it is temporary. The prospect of a loving God entering into and redeeming the darkness is far too tantalizing an adventure for us to refuse joining in.
And contempt for our political adversaries is not befitting to us. Counterintuitive as it feels, pray for them! If it doesn’t change their hearts, it certainly will ours – for the better. And besides, a movement of joy and lightness and even good humor is far more attractive than one driven by bitterness and contempt.
The Cook family sees you. We love you. You are of inestimable worth to a world that needs to know love very, very badly. 
Rest and Take Heart
A lot of news came out on the national political front today.
Some in my community are absolutely heartbroken about it. My heart breaks with them. As I project into the future, I imagine that most of us will be okay; but that is mostly because of the margin we have financially and our fortunate positions as citizens of this country. Others who have fewer choices will feel these policies much more.
Others in my community likely couldn’t be more excited about the developments in Washington. My heart breaks for them too – but for different reasons.
A confession: I have stress eaten soft serve ice cream for the last three days as I have listened to the news and ruminated on the pain that so many of folks on the margins will experience as a result of the policies being forged – people I have come to call friends. I worry for Julia as well.
I felt so very heavy today thinking about the decisions made by policymakers so far away and the implications of those decisions. Some will be enriched, others will be relatively unaffected and others devastated. And the people who made those decisions will likely be just fine.
But for those of my friends who are scared and disappointed and grieving right now, I found unexpected solace as I did a few backyard chores after dinner.
Julia and I were watering the shrubs and flowers – including the six potted sunflowers that she had grown from seed as a part of her eighth grade science experiment. Three of them are now taller than she is and are just beginning to bud.
Julia had gone inside and I stopped for a moment to take in the summer air and feel the sun and maybe grieve a little.
But I stared into one of those sunflower buds, about three inches in diameter, with the sun hitting it from behind. It was just beginning to bloom, but there was much of its inside that was still preparing to open into its fullness.
And for a moment, I was captivated by the wonder of it all.
Julia had put seeds in the dirt twelve weeks before; and now I was staring into something that was clearly not a seed, but beautiful and uniquely designed to produce more seeds. The sun that illuminated it was going down into a warm evening as the fireflies rose from the grass. And the sun would return the following morning.
Silly? Maudlin? Disconnected from the reality of this frightening political moment?
Perhaps.
But in that moment, staring at a silly sunflower, I was reminded that, despite everything that feels wrong, there is still so very much in this world that is going right. And that hope was fuel for this parched soul. 
Friends – this adventure is still unfolding. Love promises redemption if we are willing to cling to hope, rest and regroup after a temporary defeat, find joy again, and take up the cause. Again.
Grieve. But grieve with purpose.
Take time and stare into the wonder that is unfolding in a Michigan summer. Watch the fireflies rise from the meadow at sunset. Take in the squeals of surprise and laughter of children playing with sparklers in the twilight.
Hell, eat some ice cream.
Let Grace enter into you to soothe the disappointment and sweep out the bitterness. Though disappointment is real, it is temporary. The prospect of a loving God entering into and redeeming the darkness is far too tantalizing an adventure for us to refuse joining in.
And contempt for our political adversaries is not befitting to us. Counterintuitive as it feels, pray for them! If it doesn’t change their hearts, it certainly will ours – for the better. And besides, a movement of joy and lightness and even good humor is far more attractive than one driven by bitterness and contempt.
The Cook family sees you. We love you. You are of inestimable worth to a world that needs to know love very, very badly.