Today, this Person, Father, Husband, and Pastor isn’t OK - and that’s OK
“Good morning - how are you today?”
This was the cheerful greeting from the wonderful woman at the gatehouse at Cincinnati Nature Center this morning. I almost immediately defaulted to the usuals as I started “I’m fi...” and then stopped and said, “You know, I’m not ok today.” She looked quite confused and I said, “Sorry to drop that on you but this morning isn’t a very good morning.” She rallied a bit and said, quite sincerely, “Well, I hope your time here makes your day better.” She gave me the usual gatehouse milk bone for Scout and I headed in for a long walk. The last time I felt anything like this when I was at CNC was when I went out there the morning I found out that my friend Lisa had died. I wasn’t ok that day and today, I’m not ok either. Now, that’s not a “yikes, Ed needs help!” or anything like that. Instead it is a recognition that the results of the election hit me and hit me hard.
I didn’t fall asleep until somewhere around 4am as I absorbed what we were seeing take place. There were several lengthy cries in the basement and so many questions swirling around for what this will mean for my children, especially for my daughters - one who is trans and one who is queer. And for my son who put so much heart and energy into working for a different result and longs for a different world than we have right now. And for so many others, some whose names I know and others I may never know. Some might say I’m being overly something (dramatic?) with all this but this is where I’m at today and, I imagine will be at for some time.
But before Scout and I headed to CNC, I did go out this morning in the rain to photograph the benches at my usual 7:45am. I was going to stay in but I felt like, today of all days, is a day I needed to photograph that moment - how do I find something...even in a day like this. So those photographs were finished and I was walking back to the car when I noticed something on this tree.
The raindrops that had gathered on the tips of the willowy branches were stunning. The air was nearly still but there was the tiniest of breezes, however. As I looked at these droplets, that gentle breeze would blow several to the ground. In this second photo, if you look on the right side, you’ll see several that are falling toward the ground.
As one who struggles to get into my feelings, this photo helped me to get a bit further into them. I wrote this to several dear people...
I just photographed this tree. It’s soft, tender branches are covered in tiny droplets from the rain. Every so often the tiniest of breezes knocks a few to the ground. That tree is me today.
It felt to me like the tree was crying. Not a torrent of tears falling but periodic ones that just continued to fall every so often from these soft tender branches. Not unlike how I was feeling (and still feel right now) as I grieved what had, just 24 hours before, felt like a soft, tender, and hopeful place but today felt heavy, grieving, and aching.
Through the rest of the morning, there were periodic further times of those droplets falling. I will be spending time tomorrow with the staff of the campaign office where my son interned and where I have been volunteering - bringing Scout for some dog therapy and also to be hopefully a helpful presence for them. I felt it aching for my wife and for our kids. And the list goes on. And. I saw it in myself as I sent a photograph of me and Scout to my family as I often do on hikes.
Yes, there’s a hint of a smile there but dang...my eyes. Paraphrasing the Psalmist from Psalm 69, those are eyes that are weary from tears. They’ll recover but today, those eyes are part of the tears that have been falling.
I know that not everyone who reads these is feeling this today. Some today are relieved or ecstatic at the results of the election. Some might say, “what’s the big deal?” Some are in the place of “Ok - we’ve got to get back to the work!” We’re all in different places today and regardless of how yesterday went, there were going to be feels all over the place.
But for those who today might not be feeling ok, it’s ok to not feel ok. If that’s you, I’ll include two resources below I’ve seen today that have been helpful for me. If you have someone in your life who is feeling today in a big way, be gentle with them.
Sometimes it’s ok to not be ok.
Grace, Peace, Love, and Joy,
Ed
Jemar Tisby - I Am Tired
- I’ve got nothing for you but this !@#$ prayer
I woke at 11 last night and it's been downhill from there. I did blackout on my avatar and cover picture on FB and what originally started as a quick note became a rant.Edward, it feels like every.single.thing I have ever fought for from the ERA 50 years ago through Oberfell and the ADA just got pulled out from under me. And at 68, a disabled lesbian elder abuse survivor that's a heck of a lot. Between Project 2025,a stacked Supreme Court and a Republican lead Senate, the next 4 years are an ever loving cr*pshoot and most of the other seniors in this place don't understand what that could mean to us. RFK Jr as Secretary of Health and Human Services? JD Vance as VP? A blantent attempt at dissolving the Dept of Education? Bible requirements instead of health education? Dissolving Social Security and Medicare? All I can say is I'm praying for social service people including ministers like both of us because it's going to be a rough 4 years. G-d bless you and Scout and all of us
I cried too. As Canadians we are cradled together on this continent. My heart breaks for you so we slow down, take a breathe, with hope and trust and keep going. I found solace this morning in these words below.
I loved the words of Rebecca Solnit (via Anne Lamott)
"They want you to feel powerless and to surrender and to let them trample everything and you are not going to let them. You are not giving up, and neither am I. The fact that we cannot save everything does not mean we cannot save anything and everything we can save is worth saving. You may need to grieve or scream or take time off, but you have a role no matter what, and right now good friends and good principles are worth gathering in. Remember what you love. Remember what loves you. Remember in this tide of hate what love is. The pain you feel is because of what you love.
The Wobblies used to say don't mourn, organize, but you can do both at once and you don't have to organize right away in this moment of furious mourning. You can be heartbroken or furious or both at once; you can scream in your car or on a cliff; you can also get up tomorrow and water the flowerpots and call someone who's upset and check your equipment for going onward.
A lot of us are going to come under direct attack, and a lot of us are going to resist by building solidarity and sanctuary. Gather up your resources, the metaphysical ones that are heart and soul and care, as well as the practical ones.
People kept the faith in the dictatorships of South America in the 1970s and 1980s, in the East Bloc countries and the USSR, women are protesting right now in Iran and people there are writing poetry. There is no alternative to persevering, and that does not require you to feel good. You can keep walking whether it's sunny or raining. Take care of yourself and remember that taking care of something else is an important part of taking care of yourself, because you are interwoven with the ten trillion things in this single garment of destiny that has been stained and torn, but is still being woven and mended and washed."
And also the words of Steve Charleston (retired Episcopalian Bishop of Alaska , Native American Elder)
“I know many of you are hurting now. I sure am. Like many of you, I put my heart into this election. I prayed. I worked. I tried to encourage others to do the same. And in the end, I lost. We lost.
History will begin now to unravel all the reasons why. That search for causes for the loss is not my agenda. I want to say a word only about my own immediate reaction and what I intend to do next.
First, I will turn my mind to care for all of you. You are the priority. You, and all the other people around the globe who had their hope grounded in this election. My first response is to reach out to comfort and support the many others who are feeling just like me. I know I am not alone in this form of grief.
Second, I will turn to Spirit and ask the ancient question: why? I do not have answers to that question yet, but I must hold my relationship to the sacred to account. I do not always expect to receive all that I ask, but I do intend to stand before the source of life to discover why my expectations were so distant from the outcome. It will not be an easy dialogue.
Third, I will not give up. My core values are not diminished by political loss. In fact, most of my life experience has been spent on the “losing” side of politics, the side of the powerless and the poor. I do not intend to back down, but to continue my steadfast belief in justice and compassion. That has not changed.
Finally, I will listen. In loss and grief, I will open my soul to what Spirit is telling me. I will try to hear the language of this moment in time and history. I will follow where that takes me, even into places that are uncomfortable or dangerous for me, seeking a wisdom that I will need to shape my work, my witness, and my faith.
These four responses will be my journey now. Perhaps they describe your journey too. If so, please know I am thinking of you, and still trusting prayer to do what, alone, I cannot do: keep us together on this latest Trail of Tears."
It's a day, its a new day.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight.
- Proverbs 3:5