"It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness."

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

All democracy is temporary. And not.

I wrote this (below) four years ago, reeling with the shock of Sandy Hook and holding tight to a baby boy who wasn't mine and a little girl who was. Today, I am reeling again in a world somehow more violent and more dangerous -- for them and for me -- a world with fresh fears and new levels of uncertainty. I am disappointed in the electoral college which today failed at its essential mission, proving that it is, in fact, vestigial and unnecessary. But I fear that it is just the first domino of our democracy to fall.

And I know that the rise of Donald Trump has been fueled largely by the hatred of a black man in power and of a woman who dared to seek it. The racism and misogyny in America has undermined our basic values. Or perhaps they are more basic to American society than what I thought were our values. And since the GOP seems willing to ignore Russian interference in our election, it's clear that "white nationalism" is more about white than nationalism.

So today, I say goodbye to my country. No, I'm not moving. But what I have believed to be good, and true and right about it is dissolving before my eyes, and I believe in saying goodbye.

Please understand .... I've never been a flag-waving America-first kind of cheerleader (unless it's at the Olympics). As an historian and an activist, I have often been critical of America's history and policies. But I believed in the promise of America, in the long arc of justice, in the obligations of "We the People" to continue to "form a more perfect union."

This election has upended all of that. I don't know what the coming years will bring, but it's not going to be "great." Not for the large majority of Americans, not for people around the world who have looked to us, not for our planet. It's going to be hard, and it's going to be scary, and many of us will not make it through. And for that I grieve tonight as I say goodbye to the country I knew.

But then I read this again, and from the perspective of four years, I can see things a little more clearly. That little boy ... he left ... and we grieved. And, after a rather circuitous journey, he's back. I tucked him into bed tonight. That love that bonded him to us so early eventually led him back to us, and the love that he was given by others along the way still encircles him.

And so may it be with my America. I hope it is possible that the core values, the things which have defined "greatness" when America has truly been great -- things like justice, equality, community, respect, mutual responsibility -- will come back around too. But I'm afraid that can only happen if we truly saturate them with love, nurture and nourish them, cultivate and sustain them. We must seek them out in every interaction. We must encourage them and, yes, foster them.

When we were foster parents, I'd often say that our job was to fill them up with love and send them on their way. And that's exactly how I envisioned it -- giving them so much love that it would imprint itself on their hearts and last for as long as they needed, for a lifetime if necessary.

So today, that's what I resolve to do for our democracy. I will fill it up with love & respect, with visions of justice and equality, and I will send it on its way through the crazy world that's about to descend upon us.

I will try to trust that our future is not limited by my current understanding, but by our collective imagination. And I will resolve to imagine bigger.


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All love it temporary. And it's not.
Saturday, Dec. 15, 2012

     He reached for me today, for the first time. Lying in his crib, he saw me coming and reached out. He’s reached for things before, but not for me. And as aware as I am of this as a first, I also know that eventually he will be reaching for someone else. Someone ...who is not me. That’s how it goes with foster parenting … I get to witness some of his firsts. I get to rejoice with him, and laugh and babble with him, but I will also have to say goodbye to him, and let his little hands reach for someone else.

     I remind myself that all love is like this; all love is temporary … It’s just not always so obvious.

     I helped my sister move today. Not into a new home, but out of an old one. Not into a new life, but out and away from a 24-year marriage that had turned into a nightmare. It was the last step in a very difficult divorce. And I remember the day she got married, her hopes and dreams of the perfect family … three children born, two still living, and 24 years later the dream has died. All love is temporary.

     And yesterday, 27 families not far from here learned the same thing. Twenty children and six adults killed at an elementary school in Newtown, CT. Parents who dropped kids off at school that morning, and will never pick them up again. Husbands and families who sent loved ones off to another day at work, and they won’t be coming home. A gunman who killed his mother, and eventually himself … but in between killed 26 others and terrorized an elementary school. All love is temporary.

     But it’s also not.

     My little foster baby will reach for someone else, but my love has already made an imprint on his heart, and his smile on mine. He will not be forgotten, and my love for him will remain, long after he is gone.

     Yes, a 24-year marriage is gone, but the remnants of love remain in two wonderful children, my niece and nephew who have developed into incredible human beings. And they are already invested in creating a better world, and in spreading joy. For love grows and spreads, rippling out far beyond its starting point.

     And yes, families in Newtown and all around the world are in mourning for the sweet children and brave educators who were killed yesterday. Our grief is so powerful and so tangible that it fills the room, and the street and the town, and the state. It sucks the air out of your lungs and makes hearts beat heavily. But not one of those people will be forgotten. We continue to love them, to treasure them, beyond death. And in this case, they are now loved by people worldwide who never knew them, but are sending prayers and healing and love anyway.

     All love is temporary, but only in our limited understanding.  Because our love is not limited to this physical plane – not limited by geography or relationship or even time. Our love is transcendent because it is a reflection of God’s love, which is limitless and unbounded. God’s love exists in the past and future at the same time, in all places and for all people. And our love can do the same. So our foster baby will always have our love, wherever he goes. And my niece and nephew will spread love, and probably suffer some heartaches too along the way. But they will spread love. In Newtown, wounds will never fully heal, but they will be bound up with a thousand threads of love, from people near and far, and held together by the memories of the loving children and adults we’ve lost. God bless them, and us, and all.

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