Trump won, but "hope will never be silent"

Trump won, but "hope will never be silent"
"Hope." Used with permission of a creative commons license here

It’s almost midnight, and I’m waiting for the announcement that Trump has won. As the guests at my election party left one by one, worried, heads down, distraught, I found myself calming down. I’m rarely the calm one in the room, rarely the strong one. But calm descended on me.

I hear the word “hope” being whispered all around me. Maybe that’s stupid, childish, simplistic. I am all of these at times. But this whisper is strengthening me.

I believe that we can change the world. I believe that love can do an awful lot, even though it sometimes isn’t enough. And I believe we do this one person at a time, one action at a time.

So, I cleaned house. My dishwasher is broken, and I’ve been washing dishes for what seems like hours. I’ve scrubbed the stove top, the trash can, the walls where I splashed chili earlier in the day.

I can do these things. I can bring order to my disordered home, and calm to my disheartened soul in the process.

Life is about the momentous things, but it’s about the small things too. If I’ve learned nothing else from cancer, it’s that peace can be found in the first sip of coffee in the morning, because that may well be all you have.

Someone tonight on the news diagnosed our democracy with cancer. Cancer grows without meaning or restraint and creates chaos and havoc. So, I think that’s a pretty good metaphor for right now.

Something is very, very wrong. Something has been wrong for a long time.

But, look, we have to have hope. There’s just no other choice. And, we have to do that for our children, for the beleaguered, the disabled, people of color, non-Christians, Muslims, LGBTQ people, and for the ill, the homeless, veterans, and refugees.

We have to meet people where they are. We have to serve each other. We have to rebuild. We have to give and love.

So, to those of you out there who always send me strength, who hope in the midst of the unspeakable, who have clawed your way back from despair, and for those who are struggling still, I want to tell you that I have have hope. I’ll lend you some because you’ve given me enough to share.

This moment, this small moment right now is all that we have. My dog is snoring next to me. The television is flashing its light and images, muted by my remote. My daughter and husband are safe and asleep upstairs.

I have ice cold water to drink, a clean kitchen, and a calm soul.

Harvey Milk said, “Hope will never be silent.” This is my voice of hope.

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