October marks three months in our new digs. The shock of big city is wearing off–the sunsets and sunrises are the same no matter your street address. There are open spaces and parks and green grass and weeds growing out of sidewalk cracks–we haven’t jumped into a concrete jungle with bars over the windows (which I had sort of imagined would be the case). Over the past two years we have moved off of a mountain into a small town cul de sac, and now to a through street in a bustling urban neighborhood. We certainly never thought we would have a backyard that backed up to someone else’s backyard. It’s as if we’ve been weaned off the wild mountain and we are standing on the flat ground, tentatively feeling out our first steps. We are still fake-smiling and hugging that weird question of where do we fit in?
But I’ve spent 34 years trying to get God to answer that one for me and all I ever get is a hazy “trust Me”. It’s nearly imperceptible, especially if I drown it out by busying myself with a thousand must do’s and should do’s. Then there are voices shouting above the noise, the news and opinions of the world around us. It’s hard to not get caught up in the commotion and think that doing it all–consuming it all–is what life is all about.
Right now the headlines in the news are screaming injustice. The media is begging for a fight, blood that can be splattered in the name of scandal. The world wants us to feel outrage, as if exploding our feelings all over the place will solve anything. It’s tempting to add our voice. It feels good to blow off steam in the direction of someone who we think deserves a little lashing.
I don’t want to fit into this culture, if this is what it requires.
I turned on an episode of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood this afternoon for my four year old. This turned into a Mr. Rogers marathon, because Fred Rogers is mesmerizing. He cares about the child behind the screen, and his love for them trumps their feelings and insecurities. Mr. Rogers paints a world where grownups are responsible helpers that want the best for kids.
America right now is fascinated with the idea of Mr. Rogers yet is standing on a pile of rocks, ready to stone Brett Kavanaugh, Donald Trump, or anyone who seems disagreeable. I yearn for justice, unless you happen to step on my toe (which is wearing a flip-flop, because I can wear whatever the hell I want and how dare you suggest sensible shoes!) and offend me. Celebrities (those with the loudest voices) show up to lead rallies to stoke a fire, preparing to be arrested, when they could be looking into a camera–I like you just the way you are.
So this is the world, and we are living on a through street. It’s up to us to keep our eyes open when nearing the roadway, because traffic doesn’t stop. The hate won’t ease, words flung like venom, but we can choose to be pedestrians instead of revving up and pulling our vehicle out into the madness. We aren’t going to walk into the left-right insanity holding a hashtag stop sign, thinking it covers or explains anything, and heaven forbid we use it as a defensive shield. No one out there is following the speed limit, and all the drivers swerve in and out of their lanes. We will stay on the sidewalk and tread our steady path to school and work, eyes alert, even with horns honking right at us.
