I’m feeling an unreasonable groundswell of hope this week. Totally unwarranted, based on the world we now find ourselves living in. An aberration, really, out of line with this grayer, meaner country.
But maybe it’s not.
Some of my hope is writing-based. I got a couple pieces of great news about my Liminal Sky series which I’ll share with you soon. I have my first legit bookstore reading this month (join me at 7 PM Thursday at Time Tested Books if you live near Sacramento). And my mother shared “The River City Chronicles” with her pastor.
That one kinda blew my mind.
My Mom goes to a progressive UCC church, and she loaned her copy of the book to Pastor Alberta. Alberta loved the story, and actually gave a sermon in church based on it, talking about the need to build community.
I can fairly certainly say that this is the first time I have inspired a sermon – at least of the good kind. 🙂
But I am also increasingly hopeful for November. There are so many people who are ready for a sea change, and not just ready for it, but ready to fight for it. Last week crystalized it for many of us. A strong woman stood up and claimed her power in the US Senate, and an angry bunch of men snarled and tried to shout her down.
It’s turned the world upside down, and shaken loose so many things.
In the last few days, several friends have told me stories of sexual assault and violence. One of them pointed something out to me that I’ve been thinking of ever since. When we tell these stories, when we pull the poison out of our veins and release it, we reclaim our selves and our power.
Maybe I’m wrong about the whole November thing. Maybe the forces of regression and bigotry and hatred that have taken over the opposition party will turn out in force, and those who believe in love and healing and common ground will all stay home.
But it doesn’t feel that way.
Everything comes from somewhere, and my unfounded hope is no exception. I remembered something important this week – I remembered that light and life and color and song feed me and make me whole. That the sunlight outside is just as bright now as it was in 2015. And that somewhere inside me, like a deep well that once seemed dry, there was a reservoir of hope.
Oh my God, you don’t know how good it feels to dip down and tap into those waters, after the scorched Earth of the last two years. Or maybe you do. Maybe you can feel it too, if you close your eyes and try.
So I am embracing my hope. I am stepping up my efforts to turn back some of the hatred that has spread through my world. I’m only one man, but I can touch those around me, and they can touch others too.
I am breathing in and breathing out love and power.
Give me your hand, and I’ll share some hope with you.