On Fire

I’ve needed to work my way through this political moment in our country, and writing is what is helping me to do that. Going forward my focus will not zoom in on politics. I will return instead to what is always at the heart of my message, which is to connect who we are in our soul with how we live in the world—which when you think about it is about as political as it gets.

I hope you’ll stick with me. Thank you for helping me navigate this week by your presence here. I am deeply grateful.

The world is on fire.

As it always is.

The world is still beautiful.

As it always is.

~ Drew Jackson

We live in a small rural town where the risk of wildfire is high, which means that for several months of the year we are under a burn ban. Just recently after a few days of good, heavy rain, the burn ban was lifted. Fires have been burning throughout the valley as neighbors and logging operations have set off slash piles, but we hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

On Wednesday morning, November 6th, the day after the election, we weren’t quite sure what to do with ourselves having learned the outcome. Consuming more news, doom scrolling, and imagining the worst felt like adding fuel to our emotional fires. Time to set off the burn pile.

We’ve accumulated stuff all year and tossed it on a pile out in our field. Branches, brush that needed to be cleared, an old wooden dresser and a stool beyond repair, sensitive documents, and a little bit more of this and that. When we torched it off, fueled by a few dashes of gasoline, it burned fast and hot, quickly reducing the pile to a fraction of the size of the original. There was lots and lots and lots of smoke at first, obscuring the view on the other side of the pile. It felt a lot like the post-election world, obscured from view by the scorching hot flames that have been fanned in our country over the past decade. It was hard to imagine what lay on the other side of that political fire.

As the major flames burned themselves out, there was more smoke and less fire. As the pile continue to burn, the smoke became less dense making it is possible to see through it. Our flag, the one we fly every day, became visible although a bit distorted. It looked a lot like how America feels right now.

As the pile burned lower, we pushed any embers and still smoldering branches in towards the center, reducing the size of the pile a little bit at a time until it was nothing but a heap of glowing ashes that will take a few days to burn out.

The fire had burned hot and fast, consuming everything. The pile was gone and the air had cleared. It felt as if something had burned away for me too. Looking toward the house, our flag was still hanging there. No longer distorted but definitely tattered and a bit worse for the wear since we purchased it. The morning light was shining through her stars and stripes, and the sun a bright beacon in the distance. She reminded me that our country still stands, even if on different footing.

What is true of the burn pile is true of our lives. We’ve gotten ourselves to this moment in our shared history together. No one is exempt, which means that we all have things that are best taken to the burn pile, set aflame, and reduced to ashes.

America has always been an aspiration. A promise. Something to work toward, but never arrive at, because the work is never done.

Time to get to work.

Everything And Nothing

My first thought upon learning the results of the presidential election was that everything had changed. The outcome of this election will alter the course of our collective future, and will take us down a path different from the one if the outcome had gone the other way.

It was hard to know what to do this morning, but thankfully, as is our ritual every morning, we made our way to the front porch in the predawn darkness. We lit the candle, settled into our chairs, and pulled up the fleece blankets to ward off the chill of the morning and the one seeping into our hearts.

Sitting together in that familiar space, the one we return to morning after morning after morning, I felt a deep and profound sadness and I couldn’t stop crying.

Sitting together in that familiar space, the one we return to morning after morning after morning, I began to feel something else. An equally deep and inexplicable hope, and I couldn’t stop crying.

Sitting together in that familiar space, the one that we return to morning after morning after morning, as the sun hit the mountain it dawned on me that everything has changed, and nothing has changed.

As a result of this election everything has changed. What that will look like, try as I might, I can’t really know from where I sit, here on the porch.

As a result of this election I now have my part to play, which is doing all that I can to love, help, and heal the world within my reach. And in that, nothing has changed.

Waiting For America

As I write this it is 8:34am on Election Day, Tuesday, November 5, 2024. I needed to write something today that would help me tomorrow morning, and maybe help you too. At this point I’ve done all I can in support of the candidates I hope to elect, and of the issues I care deeply about. I’ve voted. I’ve encouraged others— friends, family, neighbors, and strangers—to vote. I’ve donated money and shared words and resources that have helped me along the way. I’ve prayed fiercely, not because I believe that God is in control of the outcome of this election, but because I believe that we are.

And now, we wait.

Waiting is active, not passive. It is a choice to stay in the here and now. To be present to what is true, even as what is true in this moment may be different from what is true just moments from now, until eventually the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth prevails.

Waiting is hard work. It’s not doing nothing. It’s doing everything to stay right here rather than jumping to what might be out there.

Waiting is trusting that the outcome will make itself known, and when it does that we will have our part to play.

Waiting is threshold work. It is the space between what has been and what will be, and is an integral part of bringing anything new into being. Such waiting is found in the rhythm of childbirth, the changing of the seasons, the cycles of the harvest, and the stillness before the sun rises to usher in a new day.

And, it is found in the continued creation of America, this fierce and fragile and fraught country that we love.

May we wait together in hope, in grace, in peace, and in love.

And when the waiting is over, may we the people turn toward one another and get to work.

Election Day Angels

At my first wellness visit after the 2016 election the intake nurse was going through that list of questions that are meant to uncover any red flags. One such question was “Have you ever had more than 6 alcoholic drinks in one day?” Yes, I replied without hesitation. She was instantly suspicious, ready to register her concern in my chart notes. It was the night of the 2016 election, I explained. She heaved a sigh of relief and laughed. That doesn’t count, she said.

Today is Election Day 2024.

It can be hard to know what to do on a day like this. There are lots of options for sure. Doom scroll. Throw shade on “all those idiots” on the other side. Ghost friends and family who see it differently than you do. Pretend it’s a day just like any other. Binge watch your go-to escape series. Pray fervently for “our” side to win. Drink yourself under the table. Research property in Costa Rica in case things don’t go your way.

Like I said, it can be hard to know what to do on a day like today.

Let me tell you about something happening in our neck of the woods that has implications far beyond today, this election, and the next four years. My husband Tom (a progressive) and our brother-in-law Bob (a conservative) are both members of Braver Angels.

If you aren’t familiar with them, there couldn’t be a better day to learn about this organization and their mission. As stated on their website:

Braver Angels is leading the nation’s largest cross-partisan, volunteer-led movement to bridge the partisan divide for the good of our democratic republic. As we head into the election, we’re bringing together “We the People” to find a hopeful alternative to toxic politics. The American Hope campaign is equipping Americans across the political spectrum to work together and demand the same of politicians from both parties.

Today, on Election Day 2024, Bob and Tom are meeting at the local drop box in town around lunchtime. Bob will be wearing his red Braver Angels hat, and Tom donning his blue one. They will be there, together, side-by-side, to thank their fellow citizens for voting, and to share with anyone interested why they believe in the mission of this organization. One issue upon which they both strongly agree is that civil political discourse is not only possible, but imperative for the good of this country we all hold dear.

Maybe it’s not so hard to know what to do on a day like this if we each call upon not only the better angels of our nature, but the braver ones as well.

Written with gratitude for Bob and Tom and all the Braver Angels who are shining a light on a better path forward.

Return The Phone Call

Today as I write this, it is 9/11, and 23 years later I still remember exactly where I was when I learned the news. Driving to the high school, I noticed that every single driver I passed had the same stunned, shocked, and horrified look on their face. I called my husband and told him to turn on the TV because “something” was obviously happening somewhere. None of us will ever forget what that something was.

Today is a day to remember what occurred then, and perhaps to reflect on where we find ourselves now. As a nation. As individuals. As communities, neighbors, friends, and families.

Today as I write this, it is 9/11, and I am missing my oldest brother, Peter.

He loved hunting, bacon, and feeding the birds. So do I. He loved animals even more than people. There are days that I can see his point. He lost himself in books. So do I. He was a patriot. So am I. He leaned right of right. I don’t, and never did. When he needed to chill-out, he listened to Rush Limbaugh. I, well, I didn’t. As close as we had been over the years, later in his life our political differences kept the two of us apart. I seemed to be the place where he could take out his frustration and anger at what and who he believed were taking our country down the wrong path. I guess I was a safe place for him to do that because he knew we loved each other. And we really, really, really did. But I increasingly found myself feeling unsafe with him. Less willing to connect with him. Less willing to return his phone calls. I know that hurt him, and it was painful for me too, but I didn’t seem to be able to find my way back to him. Until he found his way back to me.

On January 6, 2021, another tragic day in our collective history, the phone rang. It was Peter. As deadly chaos reigned in and around the U.S. Capitol, we talked for the first time in a long time. What was playing out in front of our eyes wasn’t the America we both loved. What was happening grieved and terrified us both, and when you are sad and scared, you want to hear the voices of those you love. Which is why, he said, he was calling me. A half an hour later we hung up the phone, two Americans on vastly different sides of the political aisle, but re-connected through our love for one another, for family, and for our country.

I will never forget that conversation. It was the last one we had. He died suddenly, eight days later, and I’ll never get to hear that deep, gravelly voice again, except for the one voicemail I’ve managed to save since he’s been gone. It’s a message he left me on May 29, 2020 from a phone call that I didn’t answer, and probably didn’t return. Oh how I wish that I had.

Today as I write this, it is 9/11, and the political divide in our country is tearing people apart. Families are estranged. People are losing real friends and finding virtual ones instead. Colleagues no longer meet for a beer. Neighbors look the other way. The loss of relationships and lack of connection with our fellow citizens is nothing less than a national tragedy. One not necessarily of our own making. But kinda.

No one can save us but us. It’s not up to our elected officials, the media, the influencers, or the trolls, bots, and algorithms. Do they play a part? Sure, and we need to hold them accountable to knock off the nonsense and get back to work on our behalf. But they can’t fix what ails us. Only we can do that. One relationship at a time. One conversation at a time. One handshake, wave, hug, meal, cup of coffee, beer, apology, reconciliation, and yes, one returned phone call at a time.

If Peter and I could do that, anyone can.

Written with gratitude for my brother, Peter.

Peter Davis 1940-2021

Getting Our Act Together

I don’t write about politics, and I’m not about to start.

Except to say this…

We the people have got to get our act together.

I live in a small rural town, and I’ve come to see political yard signs as one more way to divide us rather than inspire us to become curious about our neighbor’s perspective. If I actually did put one up for this upcoming election, I suspect mine would be in the minority of those displayed in the beautiful valley that I share with my goodhearted, and like me, patriotic neighbors. Rather than sparking curiosity, I worry that it would only further fan the flames of division that are threatening the country that we the people all love.

The truth is, it has become scary as hell to bring up anything political (with anyone other than those who “agree” with us). With family who lean in a different direction than we do. With friends who cast their sacred votes differently than we do for reasons that make good sense to them just as ours do to us. With our neighbors who identify with a different political party than we do. With colleagues upon whom we depend for a job well done, but don’t dare broach certain subjects around the metaphorical water cooler. With the stranger in line at the grocery store who, nevertheless, is a fellow citizen of this country that we the people all love.

But if we the people are going to get our act together, then it’s time that we the people put on our big boy/girl/however-you-identify pants, and start talking with each other. But because it’s scary, because it feels like a bridge too far, we don’t do it.

But what if we did, and where could we start?

How about with one simple question…

How are you feeling about this election?

It’s a question that doesn’t demand to know what party we identify with.

How are you feeling about this election?

It’s a question that doesn’t demand to know who we are going to vote for and why.

How are you feeling about this election?

It’s a question that doesn’t demand to know who we blame for the mess we’re in, or to whom we attribute the progress we have or haven’t made.

How are you feeling about this election?

It’s a question that invites us to get out of our ideological heads and into our human hearts. It’s a question to which there is no wrong answer, just my answer, your answer, their answer, all of which are true, and many of which I suspect are the same, even if for different reasons.

Almost all fruitful endeavors, conversations, inventions, solutions, and relationships begin with and are sustained by good questions. Which, when asked and received with a sense of curiosity and grace, can lead to the next question. And the next and the next, and the next, until before we know it, we’ve found ourselves on some common ground, even if only a sliver. And a sliver is a place to start.

For any of us who watched one of the conventions, we were challenged to stop complaining and “do something”. If we the people are going to get our act together, maybe it starts with each of us doing something that connects us rather than divides us. Like talking with each other.

So, how are you feeling about this election?

I’m so terrified that you asked, but here goes.

I’m feeling hopeful, optimistic, scared, and yes, joyful.

Hmm. Tell me more about that. and why you’re feeling that way.

I’m a little less scared and a tiny bit more glad that you asked.

I’m hopeful that it will lead us forward. That it might pave the way for us to address the very real challenges that we the people face, and that our children and grandchildren will face after we’re gone.

I’m optimistic that it will embolden anyone who feels that their party has been stolen from them to take ownership of it again, because everyone is needed for we the people to get our collective act together.

I’m scared that too many of us will choose party over country, vote against someone rather than for something, do nothing out of despair that their vote doesn’t matter or in protest against an imperfect system, rather than exercising their right to vote in order to perfect our union just a little bit more.

And, yes, I’m feeling joyful that we might actually have a chance to bring a lot of us, from both sides of the aisle, a bit closer together, which is where the shit we all care about actually gets done.

So, how are you feeling about this election?

Re-stacking The Wood

There’s nothing much more satisfying than stacking firewood.

Piece by piece the wood that was once a tree that blew down in the wind, was blocking the view of the mountain for a neighbor, or that needed to be taken down due to disease or to create a better fire barrier, goes from the stack in the shed into a wheelbarrow and onto the stack on the back porch.

That firewood serves a purpose.

It fuels the fire around which we gather. It brings people together, as has been true for most of human history. Time together around a fire warms the collective, reminding us that we are not alone, that we belong to one another, are meant to live in relationship with one another and not left out in the cold on our own.

Stacking the wood is a collection of elements that make for a worthwhile project.

It is manual labor. Work done with the hands of humans. It is meaningful labor. Work that accomplishes something that matters. It is methodical labor. Steady and purposeful effort toward a desired outcome.

Today I re-stacked the firewood onto the stack in the shed.

It’s fire season and we will be away from home for a while. Wood on the porch under the eaves of the house could ignite in the event of a wildfire, putting our home at risk. Moving the wood, piece by piece, from one stack to another, I was reminded—by a friend who shares my love for stacking wood—of the pattern by which Richard Rohr teaches that all transformation takes place. Order. Disorder. Reorder. That’s how transformation works. And as much as we cling to our desire for order and want to keep things all neat and buttoned up, there is no skipping the messy middle disorder. It is only in the midst of the mess and jumble of the pieces that we are able to put life back together in ways that will better serves what life is asking of us.

Like it or not, we are in the midst of disorder on a national and global scale. Rather than gathering together around the hearth of the common good, we are increasingly a people divided by difference rallying around blazes fueled by fear.

Re-stacking the wood of the world is our collective task.

It is the manual labor that can only be done by human, the meaningful labor that has the potential to accomplish something that matters, and the methodical labor comprised of steady and purposeful effort towards a desired outcome.

Re-stacking the wood for the common good, might, just might, keep us from going up in flames.

Bump The Sticker

WARNING: You may encounter triggering language.

I don’t usually go on a rant, but here goes.

Waiting to pull into the car wash, I had plenty of time to reflect on the bumper sticker on the car ahead of me. America. Love it or leave it. What does that even mean?

The week before, I tried to choke down my lunch while staring at the bumper sticker in front of me that declared, You should be grateful, you could have been aborted. What does one even do with that?

And how about these equally polarizing pearls of wisdom:

Proud to be Everything a Republican Hates

When I die, don’t let me vote Democrat

I think, therefore I vote: Democrat

Unvaccinated Conservative Meat Eating Gun Owner: How else can I offend you today?

For the love of whatever we might all hold dear, what are we doing? How did we become so divided from and at odds with our fellow citizens? How did we become so completely us vs them? Decide that we’re right, you’re wrong, and if you don’t agree with us, then you are the f-ing problem?

I’ll tell you one thing. Inflammatory bumper stickers aren’t helping us get out of the mess for which we are all, in part, responsible. Generally, they are statements of what the driver of that vehicle claims as the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

So help me God, I am beginning to see these types of bumper stickers as cowardly statements from which one can drive away, leaving no room for curiosity, conversation, connection, conversion, compromise, or collaboration. Which, by the way, are the only ways out from the rock and the hard place between which we are all stuck.

So let’s bump the sticker, roll up our Amercian sleeves, and get to work to building, re-building, building for the first time, take your pick, an imperfect country that we can all love in our own unique ways, and that makes room for and takes care of us all.

Thanks for listening.

Bridge Repair

The Hood River Bridge spans the Columbia River, and serves as a connection between Washington and Oregon. There’s lots of controversy about the bridge including what it costs to cross from one side to the other, the price of its upcoming replacement, the undue financial burden it places on those whose labor keeps our Gorge communities running but can barely afford to live here, and on and on and on. One thing that is undeniable is that this bridge matters. It’s necessary. It connects us one to another, and makes life possible in countless ways.

Recently, the bridge underwent necessary repair work to address deck fractures due to heavy truck loads. This meant that there were intermittent single-lane closures, usually lasting about 15 minutes, which meant drivers needed to allow additional time to make it to that doctor’s appointment, job, lunch with a friend, or whatever errands were on the list for that day. While a bit of an inconvenience, repairing fractures on a bridge that crosses a big body of water seems worth the trouble.

I didn’t expect the process to make an emotional impact on me.

But it did.

Pickup trucks were parked every so often, and in between each truck were two welders wearing helmets, goggles, and protective gloves, bent over their section of the bridge requiring reinforcement. There was no music accompanying their efforts, but the welders moved with the elegance and precision of those who have spent countless hours mastering the art of repair. A porta potty sat on the back of a flatbed truck located in the middle of the bridge, and flaggers directed traffic. Drivers were cautioned to drive slowly so as to ensure the safety of the workers, and to refrain from looking at the brilliant welding arc light that flashes as the welding iron worked its magic.

As I observed the process I suddenly had this lump in my throat. What I was watching was what I could only call a stunningly choreographed dance of collective human endeavor, and like it or not, regardless of our opinion about the bridge and how it is or isn’t being managed, we were all a necessary part of that dance. Because the bridge matters to all of us. And the bridge matters because connection matters.

Bridges, real or metaphorical, are what connect us from here to there. From one person to another. From one perspective or belief to a differing one. From one side of the political aisle to the other. And like the Hood River Bridge, at one time or another repair is needed to provide safe passage to the other side, and we all have a part to play.

So when encountering bridge repair, be mindful to proceed slowly and with caution for the safety and wellbeing of all involved. And don’t look directly at the welding arc, because there is some blindingly brilliant magic at play in the work of repair..

#ThePostcardProject

On November 6th, I posted a blog titled Dear Us.

I wrote it as a way of passing the time as the election results were still coming in. I knew that regardless of the outcome, there is serious work to be done if we are to redeem our democracy. And yes, it is work to be done by our elected officials, but if there is any hope of success, it is work that must be done by all of us.

In that blog I imagined sending a handwritten postcard to every member of Congress, calling on them to stop blaming those across the proverbial aisle and start working together for the common good. Because that is what I want them to do. I believe the majority of Americans want them to do that too.

Walking down our road the next morning my husband said, “Mol, we should do it. We should handwrite postcards to all 535 members of Congress. I also think you should do something with this idea.”

And with those words, #ThePostcardProject was born.

The idea is to get as many people as possible, from all across the country and the political spectrum to send a clear message to Congress. Stop blaming each other and start working together to build a country that works for all of us. Period.

Today I am inviting you to not only join me in my efforts, but to invite as many others as you can to join in as well. Ask friends. Ask family. Ask neighbors and co-workers, teachers and students, athletic teams and faith communities. Ask any and everyone you can.

The time to come together as a country is now, and #ThePostcardProject is one way to start.

Will you join me?