I have had emails from good friends expressing their concern about the election.  One shudders at the thought of Obama’s election and what will happen to the country-alas, the entire world-in the aftermath.  Another asks me about Sarah Palin and any qualms I might have should she accede to the presidency. 

I’m not worried about either one. 

Call me an ostrich, but I’ve done my reading, made my decision, and have firmly set this topic to the side.  How, exactly, will worrying about it change the results?  I firmly believe that God is sovereign over all, including American, British, Peruvian and Zimbabwean elections. (Yikes! Does Peru even hold elections?) So my hope is in the Lord, not in McCain, Obama, or any third party candidate. 

A verse that has impacted my life was part of our family Bible reading the day of my mom’s sudden death.

Trust in Him at all time:
ye people, pour out your heart before Him;
God is a refuge for us.
~ Psalm 62:8

I don’t believe that the solution to our problems will come from a politician, a political party or a government.  I know that the policies of either candidate will have their effect on my personal life, but I’m still choosing to trust God and thank Him for whomever He gives us.

One of the reasons I’m not worked up about this election is that I don’t watch, listen to or read the daily news. (Well, I do read our daily local paper, but, folks, it varies from 8-12 pages in length.) I believe a steady diet of CNN or Fox News or any other network will produce tension, anxiety, restlessness and discontent. 

But to keep it honest, I occasionally read articles and essays online.  It’s not that I’m not interested in current events, cultural trends, editorials or news events.  I just want to think and read about them from a longer perspective than the bites of daily news.

An obscure sentence in a book I read long ago impacted me.

My own dad spent hours reading the newspaper. 
I have often thought how much broader his world would have been if he had read more books.     
   ~ Gladys Hunt in Read for Your Life 

Also key in influencing my thinking: Neil Postman’s fabulous book Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, in which he discusses information over-load and how we receive dump-loads of facts which have no relevance to our daily lives.   

I came to realize that the energy and passion I was putting into politics seemed to dissipate into thin air with nothing left to show for it.  I chose to spend time with books–good books–which would nourish my soul and stimulate my mind.

I want to emulate the Proverbs 31 woman:  “She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.” 

Please don’t take this as a slam of news wonks or political junkies.  It is just my apology for not getting worked up over the election.  I welcome dissenting opinions. 

You know how a conversation, like a good  book or a thoughtful movie, can remain at the top of your sub-conscious mind and pop up into your thoughts long after it has ended?

I can’t stop thinking about a remarkable young woman-my kids’ best friend- and her job as a deaf interpreter.  As we sipped chai and nibbled on naan, she explained how she sits in a cubicle with a web cam and screen and makes phone calls for deaf clients.  The client and interpreter can see each other through the web cams; she makes the phone call to the hearing person and speaks the words that are communicated through sign language.  Then she takes the spoken side of the conversation and translates it in sign language through the web cam back to the deaf person.

The calls can be casual requests, birthday greetings, or bad news. 

My friend, the mediator, is required to reflect the mood as well as the words of her client.  She has to make decisions on the spot for the right word, and interpret groanings that have no words.  She can let the silence speak for itself or explain, “Sir, your sister is sobbing right now…” 

Also the moods and words of the two parties may be very different.  The interpreter has to switch back and forth to accurately translate the conversation.  It is a job which requires intelligence, empathy, integrity, quick responses, decisiveness, flexibility. 

“It’s so incarnational,” I exclaimed.  “You become the caller, and faithfully represent that caller to the receiver.  You don’t take on flesh and blood, but you become his or her voice.  It’s really quite a Christ-like job.”

But after a couple of days, it dawned on me how very Holy-Spirit-ish it is.  Because so many times there are No Words.  Only groanings.  Only cries of the heart.   We fumble, mumble and stumble;  we trip over syllables trying to capture the words to speak our hearts. 

Oh my.  A job that reflects two persons of the Trinity.  That’s what I call a job from heaven.

Blessings,

All right, I’ll just stick my oar in the water and do a little splashing:

Back when Chris was Christopher, and Christopher was 10, we left the mall after a successful shopping trip.  Whatever item we needed had been purchased, our errands were completed and Life Was Good.  We were both satisfied as we stepped into the sunny Saturday morning.

It was easy to find our car then: we owned the only light brown Honda Civic Wagon in town.  When I opened the door I was surprised to see a donut on my my seat, sitting on a piece of paper with two words scribbled on it: “Hi Carol!”  No one was in sight.  In our small town, gentle courtesies like this are not uncommon.  We divided the still-warm donut, rolled down the windows, and enjoyed our treat in companionable silence. 

A shadow blocked the sunlight as a deep voice said, “Excuse me? How do you get to the truck stop?”  A large man in a flannel shirt and jeans leaned against my son’s side of the car.  Within a nanosecond his head was inside the car as his hands gripped the door. 

A frisson of terror gripped me as I realized how utterly vulnerable we were.  Our car was a quarter mile from an  interstate highway, the keys dangling in the ignition.   His head was an inch away from my ten year old son.  I had no idea if a gun, a knife or his large hands would be pressed against my boy’s throat.  Even though it was a bright  sunshiny day in full view of the public, I felt threatened.

Struggling for a neutral tone, stuttering each syllable, mentally sifting the situation, I gave the man directions.   When I finished there was a pregnant pause.   Our eyes met and held.  He then repeated the directions, said, “Thank you.” and walked away. 

I let a big breath out, flicked a speck of dried sugar from my chin, started the car and drove home.  After I told my husband the story, his strong reaction of anger, directed at me!,  was astonishing.

“Why didn’t you tell him to get the h*** away from the car?”

“I didn’t want to be rude.”

“People don’t normally stick their heads inside a car, dear.  It’s more important to protect yourself and your child than to be nice. Please remember that in the future.”

I came to understand godly rudeness late in life.  When I was in high school, a classmate offered me drugs.  “Oh no…..no.  But thanks, anyway.”   When a guy made a pointed sexual remark I sweetly changed the subject to James Taylor, Seals and Croft, or some other singer.  I valued being polite and pleasing to people, i.e. not saying anything they wouldn’t like, more than my own dignity.  There is a time to be articulate, blunt, direct and firm.  Step away from the car….
 
The 1995 movie Under the Piano tells the story of an older sister Franny (Amanda Plummer) who tries to keep her autistic sister Rose (Megan Follows) out of an institution.  Franny finds Rose a job and then prepares her for any potential problems with boys.  (dialog loosely constructed from my memory)

She had the right idea.