Broken-hearted

I want to be real. I want to be authentic. Today that means being raw and bleeding. I am caught amid anger and frustration and pain beyond description.

I used to be one of many white middle-class Americans who could afford to be apolitical. I didn't vote for Obama because I thought being pro-life was too important, but I couldn't vote against him because I knew he was a good president. Oh, what I would give to go back and vote for him not once but twice! I used to be able to afford to ignore the issues and go on living a quiet, unobtrusive life. That was before Trayvon Martin, before Weinstein, before a racist misogynist became president. The more time goes by, the less apolitical I can be, and the more angry and deeply wounded I become.

I wish I could put on a thick skin and ignore it all. I wish all of the events on the news didn't trigger the fire of emotion in me. I wish I were not terrified about my son's being the victim of police brutality. I wish I were not terrified of my daughter's being the victim of sexual assault from an acquaintance. But I am terrified.

I wish I could dismiss the stories of children being separated from their parents at the U.S.-Mexico border. I wish I could ignore the stories of people fighting for survival in Syria, where the U.S. has denied funding and aid. I wish I didn't care. But I do care.

I feel helpless and hopeless. I'm only one person, and the darkness around me is closing in, trapping me. Every conversation I have seems to deepen the despair. I've been called disrespectful, irrational, overemotional, rude, hypocritical, curt, sharp. It is true that I am most offensive when I am hurting most.

I admit I can't see it from your perspective. I don't want to. Even trying to think the way you do makes me feel physically ill. I am hard-headed and stubborn. I don't want to understand why you support our president. I don't want to understand why you loathe Colin Kaepernick. I don't want to understand how you can rationalize owning semi-automatic weapons. I don't want to understand how you can justify the confirmation of Kavanaugh. It's true; I don't want to understand. I don't want to climb inside your head and find common ground. How can there be any?

And I'm tired of the trite admonition to pray for peace, to let Jesus handle it all, to give it to God. As if that actually solved anything, as though Jesus were a fairy godmother brandishing a wand so we could all marry a rich prince. Praying for peace doesn't keep bad things from happening. Trusting in God won't keep Tim from getting shot by a cop for doing absolutely nothing wrong, or keep Anna from being assaulted by a drunk boy from school. Leaving it in God's hands means we are either despairing at effecting change or admitting we don't care enough to say or do anything.

My heart is full of despair, but I don't want to give up, and I do care. I want to be active. I don't know how yet, but if I don't get off my sorry little butt and get involved, I will continue to spiral down into the darkness of despair.

As for this blog, maybe it is time for it to die. Everything I want to say John Pavlovitz or Jen Hatmaker has pretty much already said. I can't be eloquent when I am so discouraged. Everything else in my life seems petty compared to the Big Picture. My words are gone. They've all dried up, and all I am left with is ashes.