Pessimistic Pollyanna

It’s not pretty.

It’s not at all pretty when a glass-half-full Pollyanna hits the reinforced concrete barrier of disappointment with the world and the overall state of things.

It’s gruesome.

I don’t want to look.

I try to avert my eyes, but I can’t escape it.

I am that Pollyanna.

I’ve hit that wall.

 

I’m overwhelmed at the degree of the hatred-of-other, apathy-toward-neighbor, and acceptance-of-lies unleashed in the world.

 

I’ve lost faith in and respect for our nation’s leaders.

I’ve lost belief in the ability of our state’s leaders to work for the common good.

I’ve lost trust in the spiritual maturity or accountability of my pastor.

 

So here I am.

Overwhelmed and lost.

I’m feeling anger, grief, despair, and – sometimes – fatigue and numb lethargy.

It’s taking its toll.

My blood pressure feels like it’s up, I think I may be getting an ulcer, and I can’t sleep.

 

The wall.

It’s been hit.

 

If it were just me, I believe I would withdraw from the world, curl up into an introverted ball, and tell the world to go you-know-where.

 

But, of course, it’s not just me.

We’re in this together.

 

Our – my! – inactions / actions affect others.

We – I! – can’t give up.

We can’t give in to anger, grief, despair, fatigue, and numb lethargy.

 

I’m still not quite sure how to proceed.

But I will try.

I have to pick up my battered and stunned self from the ground at the foot of the wall and seek a way over, around, or through it.

The Pollyanna in me, buried deep as she is, whispers to keep seeking the way.

Wake-Up Call

You don’t need a wake-up call 

When you can’t sleep at night.

Eyes wide open.

Nothing feels right.

My cell phone shrieked, “Tornado Warning. Take shelter now.”

We gathered the dog and headed to a storage area in our basement – just in case.

We don’t get many tornados around here, so this was unusual and a bit scary.

They say it’s safest to be away from windows, but then you have no line of sight to see what is or isn’t coming. You have to rely on others to tell you when it’s safe to come out.

The weather warning expired and we emerged from the basement.

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Fast forward to 3 a.m.

The rain and wind are gone, but I’m awake and on edge.

My cell phone sits in silence on the nightstand…no alerts and warnings, and it’s way too soon for the alarm clock to sound.

But my mind is shrieking, “The world is out of whack. Take action now.”

For this warning, it does no good to hide in the basement.

We need to open every single window and shine light on all the facts.

We need to creep out of our safe zones and track what’s happening with our own eyes and ears.

This is not a drill.

And we don’t need a wake-up call when we can’t sleep at night.

Oh My God

Oh My God!

The President of the United States is a boorish bully who has bragged about getting away with sexual assault; a state just elected a politician who physically assaulted a reporter the night before the election; our nation is on the brink of kicking the legs out from under the elderly, ill, disabled, and poor; and white evangelical Christians celebrate that this all reflects their “dream” leadership team.

God!

Where are you??

Thy kingdom does not look ANYTHING like this alternate universe that’s come.

Please, God, deliver us from evil.

Amen.

Five Minute Friday: Truth

(So, I’ve been participating in a “writers’ flash mob” of sorts called Five Minute Friday. In response to a one-word prompt, hundreds of writers sit down and write for five minutes flat. No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font or punctuation; unscripted and unedited. Here’s today’s edition…setting the timer….)

Five Minute Friday: Truth

Go.

Truth exists.

I believe in truth.

I want to know the truth.

I believe I even know what some of it is.

But if I truly value truth, I can’t just assume I know it.

I have my opinions about “truth” and some of those opinions are correct.

Law of averages, and all that…

But – law of averages – some of my opinions about “truth” are false.

The key is to care.

The key is to care whether my version of truth is true.

The key is to keep seeking, asking, considering, and listening.

The key is to care if what I think is the truth holds up over time.

If it holds up over a lifetime…

I do believe in truth.

I do care what it is.

I will continue to seek it.

I will continue to ask questions.

I will continue to consider other points of view.

I will continue to listen.

I will continue to care whether my version of truth is true.

That’s the key.

And that’s the truth.

Stop.

Five Minute Friday: Sing

(So, I’ve been participating in a “writers’ flash mob” of sorts called Five Minute Friday. In response to a one-word prompt, hundreds of writers sit down and write for five minutes flat. No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font or punctuation; unscripted and unedited. Here’s today’s edition…setting the timer….)

Five Minute Friday: Sing

Go.

How can I sing when my heart’s out of tune?

When there’s no harmony in my world?

My soul seeks to sing – to hum along and whistle.

My soul, not always knowing or remembering the words, bursts with song.

I sing because my soul chooses to sing.

It can’t not sing.

Sometimes out of tune or with the wrong words.

But I sing.

And it makes a difference.

At least to me.

Stop.

Five Minute Friday: Empty

(So, I’ve been participating in a “writers’ flash mob” of sorts called Five Minute Friday. In response to a one-word prompt, hundreds of writers sit down and write for five minutes flat. No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font or punctuation; unscripted and unedited. Here’s today’s edition…setting the timer….)

Five Minute Friday: Empty

Go.

Good Friday Haiku;

Even angels are weeping;

Mournful psalms singing.

Power offered up;

Tender-hearted grace shown us;

Yahweh gave it all.

Stop.

Fellow Travelers

In the summer of 1989 – a few weeks after the Chinese government cracked down on protesters in Tiananmen Square and a few months before the East German government unexpectedly began cutting holes in the Berlin Wall – I boarded a flight for West Germany and met a man from Syria.

I don’t remember his name and I would not be able to pick him out of a crowd today, but I remember conversing with him during our eight-hour flight. He was a pleasant seatmate, chatting sociably but not so much as to monopolize my attention or time.

The plane landed and we went our separate ways. I headed off to start my new job as a reporter/producer at Radio Deutsche Welle and he headed off in his own direction.

As the war in Syria drags on, I find myself wondering about him and what became of his life since that shared flight and brief conversation.

Is he still alive?

If so, I think he would be in his 60s. What is his life like?

Does he have children? Grandchildren?

Is he among the refugees who fled the country, among those who remained and fear for their lives; or – perhaps – is he part of Assad’s government forces or one of the terrorist groups?

I really have no idea.

Rapid-fire news headlines and pontificating pundits can quickly numb us to an important truth.

The people of Syria – and those in many other war zones around the world – are people who work and eat and sleep and laugh and cry and sing and bleed.

Just like us.

Some of them are nice to other people; some of them are not.

Just like us.

They are born; live; and die.

Just like us.

We are, after all, aboard the same flight.