Lament for Mom

Oh, my heart aches… still aches for you, my precious Mama. Can’t I have just one more day! 

People said,  “She’s not suffering, she’s at rest. It’s a blessing.” …meant to comfort my broken heart, to assure me you’d left a long time ago—that the long good-bye was now over. They said I’d been a good daughter, as though you’d been a burden in my busy life (you weren’t). That now I could “get on” with making dreams come true (huh?) , That the pause on the rest of my life was finished, (what!) and I could finally move forward to the next chapter.  Good people, my friends. People who loved me. Meaning well, and showing up. Food and flowers, cards and condolence. I’m ever grateful. Still, I long for one more day….I wish I’d had you a million more. 60 years was just a drop in the bucket. 

Are you really dead? Some nights I dream of you, and wake and remember.  

You were my first “everything.” I grew in your womb. You fed and nourished and wanted and loved me. I’m a motherless child. Eleven years now, this April night,  I held your still-warm hand and kissed your cheek one last time, Good-bye, though it wasn’t good at all.  Way too soon. My heart aches and I dream of you, and remember.

    When I look at pretty fabric, I remember you .

    When I hear someone whistle, I remember you.

    When I hear “I come to the Garden alone,” I remember you.

    When I see your fine China, I remember you.

    When I see lace tablecloths, I remember you.

    When I see boxes of Depends on store shelves I remember you

    When I think of Alzheimer's Disease, I remember you.

    When I make rice with egg gravy, I remember you.

    When I see neatly folded towels, I remember you.

    When I see Betty Boop anything, I remember you. 

    When I make pies, I remember you.

    When I think of a book called Klondike Kate, I remember you.

    When I see a Sabbath School quarterly and Bible, I remember you.

    When I set the table, I remember you. 

    When we gather for holidays, I remember you.

    When I meet someone named “Betty”, I remember you.

    When I catch a glimpse of your house from the highway, I remember you.

    When I sit in church, I remember you.

    When we sing for sundown worship, I remember you.

    When we sing “tis love that makes us happy”, I remember you.

    When we eat popcorn on Saturday nights, I remember you

    When I see rhododendrons blossom, I remember you.

    When I see jars of canned fruit, I remember you.

    When I see your grandchildren, I remember you.

    When I hug your great-grandchildren, I remember you.

    When I remember Lee at 14, I remember you.

    When I hear scalawag and little pill, I remember you.

    When I hear Jim, Tom and Tim, I remember you.

    When I see Deanne, I remember you.

    When I think of love, loyalty, devotion, commitment and courage, I remember you.

    When I see your pik top hanging in my closet, I remember you.

    When January 8 and June 15 come, I remember you.

    When I remember Daddy, I remember you.

    When I think of love and devotion and commitment, I remember you.

    When I remember a million memories, I remember you.

    Always. I remember you

I want just one more day. Not in the sweet bye and bye, but now! But it’s

not to be, and my heart weeps, even still.

Did you know how much I loved you? I’m sorry for being so busy with my own conundrums and not spending more time with you and Daddy—there was never enough.

You believed with all your heart and taught that the ONE MORE DAY is coming, soon, and will last forever. That your good-bye was not forever, and that the One you loved will make the good come true, and all will be well. I can hardly wait.

Oh, I loved you, Mom. I miss you. 

Always,

Your Susan Joy

Birthday thoughts--71 again!

January 23 comes again! 

 I remember a moonlit night. It seems like yesterday, or forever ago. Our chant echoed in the crisp night air. “We are the seniors, the mighty mighty seniors, everywhere we go, people wanna know, who we are, so we tell them, we are the seniors, the mighty mighty seniors…” and so it went, over  and over, amidst laughter and joy. The class of ’71, ready to embark on hopes and dreams for unknown adventures just around the corner. We had plans!  The future was before us. A few planned to marry soon and begin their happy ever-after. College beamed on the horizon for some, while others anticipated staying to work at home-town jobs. Others thought of trade school while some carried only guarded hopes mingled with fear and uncertainty (we hadn’t heard of taking a gap year.). At that moment, though, we were united in carefree solidarity. (Oh, we knew “hard” —a different hard than we know now, but still hard). But on that starry night, the future lay before us as vast as the night sky, twinkling with promise. We were seniors! The class of ’71! 

Since that memorable night so long ago, the earth revolved around the sun  53 more times. 1-2 3 poof! My birthday! 71 again—and still a senior, revised version. Age over class this time.  Updated chant: “I am a senior, a mighty mighty senior, everywhere I go, I wanna know, who YOU are, so you tell me, who you are, ……”  around and around, like life, in circles.  Though forget I may (as seniors sometime do), my longing to KNOW comes not from memory loss, but from an insatiable longing to grasp all the knowing I can—the beautiful mystery that resides within the human soul and beyond.

Baby boomers—class of ‘71—certainly a generation that shares a unique history, as every generation does. We boomed en masse to a world reeling from the tragedy of one war, prepping for the next. Our parents and theirs held the stories. I wish they’d told us more. Now we’ve become the keeper of the stories. It happened so quick.

Then—no cell phones or computers, no instagram or X, dresses only and hose always (for the girls), home economics or shop classes--with gender divide, typing class and keypunch, libraries for research papers and learning the Dewey Decimal System, shopping at JCPenney,  Sears, or Montgomery Wards.  Big thick catalogs in the mail(box). Amazon was a river and letters arrived with postage stamps. An apple was something we ate and spiders built a web.  A man walked on the moon and hippies and Twiggy and flower children and protest filled the news. Kent State. Woodstock. The Civil Rights Movement and MLK (Black lives still matter).  Lots of music--vinyl records birthing cassette tapes and 8 tracks and more. Beatles and Beach Boys, the Carpenters, and even Elvis (some things never change). Station wagons and Bugs and muscle cars. No seatbelts or carseats or remote start. Plenty of lead and asbestos. Green meant what matched crayons while flesh-named crayons matched my skin. 

The list goes on—and on—and on. New everywhere, anchored by the old. Language with roots, and new all together. The constancy of change. Aways the yearning to know and be known. Immersion in fragments of joy, love, dreams, hopes, curiosity, communication, adventure, longing. Loss, grief, fears—always too much. Wanting to be pretty and wanting to be liked. Asking questions with no answers, and hearing answers without questions. War, wishing it was no more (Where have all the flowers gone?),  Then we looked forward to the vast unknown and backward only a few short years- how did it reverse so quickly!?

We, the class of 71, spread wings and flew to the ends of the earth, geographically and metaphorically. Regretfully, I kept in touch with only a handful of classmates. I nested with one—the boy who charmed me with his eyes when we were freshman and still holds my heart.  We gather with classmates every few years and have a reunion of sorts, like homing pigeons returning to a time that lives forever in our hearts. Diminished numbers, with fond and exaggerated memories. Every time we meet, another is missing. 

I poignantly think of my dear childhood friend and ’71 classmate who later became my sister-in-law who died of cancer a few days before her 33rd birthday, and my classmate and beloved friend who died just weeks ago—and too many others. Cancer, accidents, suicide. diabetes, paralysis, leukemia, transplants, knee replacements, degenerative diseases, dementia, infertility and anguish, mental illness— the stripping away of dreams. (What happened? Can we have a do-over?). Some have buried children, and along with them their own hopes and dreams. Most of us have bid farewell to the ones who gave us life, our baby boomer parents. Most of us are orphans now.  All, a new “hard. 

As I think back to my first 71—with hopes and dreams and longings of youth—I'm humbly grateful that much of what I hoped for and dreamed of came to be.  I am one of the lucky ones. Though not without heartache and loss, my life has been filled with greater joy. My heart is deeply touched by the courage, strength, and resiliency of those who have suffered beyond what I can imagine. My desire for connection remains, growing stronger with each birthday.  I want to know and be known,  to live with kindness, to communicate and connect in the ways that matter most. I look forward to adventures awaiting. 

Someone asked me “how many.” I heard a few gasps, and whispers “You shouldn’t ask that!” (Is asking a man the same question okay?). I laughed. I’ve never hesitated telling my age (except last year—saying 70 to myself sounded old! I'm over it.). I happily answered, “I’m 71!”  I acknowledged that every birthday is a gift, a privilege denied to many, and that the ones who live the longest have the most birthdays—so “keep ‘em coming.”  (Thoughts absorbed from others—attributions to many!). And what does “young at heart” even mean? I’ve heard it said as a compliment about an “old” person, but when a young person is labeled  “an old soul” it’s sometimes whispered with near reverence. Huh? 

As I reminisce about that night so long ago, gratitude overflows that we shared those sweet moments and bright dreams to sustain and hold us for all that was to come. 

We, the class of ’71, wanted to improve the world. We would not make the mistakes our parents and grandparents made. We would be better, do better. But alas, as we took wing and flew, we encountered turbulence and hurricanes and raging fires and predators all around—but we also found gentle currents to soar on, and peaceful waters to buoy us—always with “olders” and the "youngers”  with us—we found we needed  all—it’s never been a solo voyage.

I’ve heard it said, “I’d never want to go back,” as though the tribulation of being young would be far too much to bear. Well—not me—I would love to go back—to embrace all we had then, and more. To remember our dreams and aspirations and sweet memories and pursuit of meaning--and never give up.

I’ve also heard it said, “Oh to be young again!, as though being a 71 year old senior today has robbed all that is good and wonderful, relegating "old" to the rubbish heap of time. Not me! I wouldn’t trade anything for the joys and profoundness of love that I know today, nor the precious memories of the 53 revolutions around the sun that have followed--and for the  hopes and dreams that remain.  Now is my time. My place. My purpose.

Occasionally I wonder “how many more?”, though not often. I know for me there’s fewer revolutions around the sun ahead of me than behind—and that makes me sad. I love living! Who will comfort my children when I’m gone? (I don’t plan going anytime soon!) Who will tell them how much they’re loved and that everything will work out and that God is real and to keep the faith? To be kind and to love each other  and that we all belong and it’s okay to cry and laugh and cry again and to remember, to hope and dream, to have fun—and that it’s not the end?  Who will tell them? (I know they’ll take care of each other and they'll be under the wings of Love). I know I need not fear. 

I’ve still so much to “do”—clean the house, sort the papers, cook the meals, organize the photos, pay the bills, give the heirlooms, hug my children’s children,—and tell the stories. The stories of those who’ve traveled with us amidst the humdrum, the nitty-gritty of surviving in this broken beautiful world, tales of the One called Love and Love’s faithfulness from the beginning, and of the hope before us, of the future when 71 trillion will be but a speck of time in the vastness the universe, and that Love is all that matters and that Love will endure forever. 

Always. 

 Senior picture

My January Birthday

 Birthday month!

Thank you all for your warm birthday greetings now a week  past. They meant so much to me! 

I treasure each  message, every friendship.

I’ve been pondering birthdays—my  own, and those of others I love—us “January kids.”

January is often called a “new beginning.” The first month of a new year, giving birth to visions of what life might become—opportunities to “do it better”— the discovery of new ways to grow and give, learn and love.

Funny thing, though. In my part of the world, January comes in the darkest time of the year—the days are short, the nights long. It’s cold. Clouds swirl, rain dumps from the heavens, rivers rise, the ocean rages. Christmas is over. Decorations came down. Adult children return to their homes, taking their children, my grandchildren with them. Time to clean up, pack away the old, prepare for the new. Back to work. 

Ironically, for me, sometimes January gives rise to those feelings within—a haunting sense of melancholy, of wistful reflection, of wondering what’s ahead while grieving the loss of what’s passed. 

So January—this new beginning. What’s new about beginning? Isn’t that an oxymoron? Isn’t any beginning “new?” Or—is it? How often do I begin again, in the same old way? How can I have a “new” beginning—try different ways of doing the “old?” How can I let the people who matter to me—and that’s each of you—know how special you are, how much you mean, how much I love you? Oh, some of you I don’t know that well—you’re mostly “facebook friends”. But we share space on this planet, we breathe in the air and exhale the joys and sorrows of our shared humanity. And some of you I know well. Some of you I’ve hurt with what I’ve said, or not said, and some of you I’ve shared amazing times with, and smile as I remember. So here we are, in January. I want to “do better, to love better, to be more kind and generous, caring and kind. 

I’ve never been afraid of saying how old I am, though this year I told someone I was 85 just to hear them say, “Oh, you look so young!” And I laughed out loud. But this year I’ve struggled with the idea I’m in the last of my 60’s. Wow! How did that happen? Yet as I reflect, I’m sobered with the realization that I’ve had the gift of reaching 69—an opportunity denied to many. I’ve seen my children grow up, watched them pursue their dreams. I’ve lived long enough to see some of them have children. I know my grandchildren and get to see them often (though not as often as I’d like!).  I’m married still and forever to Lee, the love of my life, for going on 49 years—we’re still growing up together! I have a home and health and a car and meaningful work and a nice cell phone. I have books and music and beauty all around. I live in a wonderful corner of the world in a town with people who care for each other, and worship in a faith community that seeks love and kindness. I’m humbly grateful for these privileges.

I recognize life can change in a moment, as it has for many of you. Just for today—I’ll treasure another day, another birthday.

I’m rambling—often what I do. As I’ve been reflecting on life, and birthdays specifically, I’ve thought of other January birthdays, birthdays of those I love. Thought I’d share a few snippets of some of the other "January kids” who I’m humbly grateful for, who have colored my life in vivid color and helped shape who I am.

My mom was the first January girl I knew. Born on the eighth of the month, she nurtured and loved me well. She’s been gone nearly eight years now, and not a day goes by but I don’t miss her. This year, January 8 rolled around again, according to the earth’s cycle, and again, I remembered and missed my beloved mother. That missing never goes away. I loved her!

Seven years after I arrived, she gave me a baby sister, born the last day of the month. All I’d  known was three brothers. Wonderful as they are, I’ll never forget the joy of welcoming Deanne. She, too, impacted my life in ways I could never have imagined, and continues to do so to this day. I love her!

And then there’s Marcia. Marcia Joy Hinkle—born 4 days after me, we shared not only our birthday month, but the same middle name, the same teachers, the same friends. We dreamed the dreams young children dream, and shared joys and sorrows  of growing-up years. At four years old, we became tight friends, and remain so to this day. Though we live far apart, she is never far from my heart. I love her dearly, and look forward to the times we spend together. I love her! 

And then there’s Charity. Eight years ago we were mirror twins—sort of! She turned 16 when I turned 61, our birthdays one day apart. We celebrate each other—and this year was no different. Though late in the evening of “her” day, she arrived, gift in hand, at my door. What fun! We sang happy birthday to each other and hugged and talked of  her dog Maisy and when we’ll get together again. I love her! 

Now Ranee’—my three youngest children’s “other mother” And Lorie, her husband who graciously opened their home to our children at pivotal times in our children's lives. For those of you who know Ranee’ and Lorie Dearing, you know how lucky we are. Ranee’ brightens the world as no other. Lorie is one of the kindest people I know. When someone loves your children, you’ve received the best gift a parent could receive. I could go on and on about Ranee’,and Lorie. Summing it up best, to know Ranee’ and Lorie is to love them—and I do!

Then there’s my beloved cousin, Mike—my “other brother.” Mike’s wedged between my two oldest brothers, Jim and Tom, and his birthday comes one day after my mother’s—something she took delight in!  He lived with us for a time when I was a girl, and as the years have gone by, he’s grown ever more dear. He’s taught me much. His resilience and quest to learn and love inspire me. I love him!

On the eighteenth of January, two years ago, I received the best birthday present ever, a few days early—my #10 grandchild—and my very first and only-ever Xiomara. Born in Toronto, we donned clothing fit for a snow storm, with coats, scarves, gloves, warm stockings and boots and walked a few blocks to the hospital with her Mama and Daddy and other Grandma and Grandpa —to await her arrival. She arrived—and life has never been the same. Words don’t do her justice—she captured us all, and we’ve never been the same!  Oh oh oh, how I love her!

There are others—you know who you are. Please know love this month, and forever.

Now, saying good-bye to January. May it come again!

Thank you all for sharing my journey. I count it a humble privilege.

Always,

Sue

                                                                               OCEANSIDE BEACH--I LOVE THE BEACH! 

                                                          

                                                        The birthday girls, my Mom and me a few years ago at a Christmas tea

                                                                                   My sister Deann's 60th birthday

                                          

                                              Marcia and me at Cape Lookout a few years ago

                                               Ranee' and Lorie with her our daughter, Lanessa

                                                      

                                                             

                                                            Charity and I celebrate again!

                                                                         January girls!

                                                                       We all celebrate!

                                                               Best birthday present ever!

                                     

 Thanksgiving 2020

Awwww family!

It’s Thanksgiving. I’m forever thankful for each one of you—my beautiful children, and yours. It’s so strange not to gather in the same time and space with you. It’s so unnatural to be away from you. It’s not the way we planned it.

We’ll be sharing thanks, though—thanks that through it all, in God’s providence we will be together again, that hope will be realized, thanks that we have a warm place to lay our heads and plenty of food to satisfy, that we have ways to connect unknown to those from whom we came, memories of their sweet legacies, that we have music and dance, that we have forgiveness of hurts and reunion of hearts,  that we have clean water to quench our thirst and warm water to wash our bodies and dishes and clean our clothes, that we have clothing for work, for play, for sleep, for celebration, for beauty and comfort, that we have ways to get places—cars and trains and planes and our own two legs, That we have not only sustenance—but a feast before us, with dessert, too. That we have “easy” ways to keep and cook the bounty of the harvest, that we have art and beauty and song to salve the distance between, that we have health and strength for another day, that your Dad and I have children who love us, and that we have children we love more, and that we have grandchildren who delight our days and bring a million smiles, thankful and deeply  humbled that we’re “safe” in this moment from the ravages of a pandemic that’s shattered the lives of more than we can number, thankful a vaccine is coming, thankful that we have a generous God who loves us all as the “apple of his eye” and forever, no matter what, holds us in His heart.

We’re thankful for those you’ve brought into our lives. From childhood onward, you brought friends into our lives who became ours, too, who we love. You’ve made our world bigger—and smaller. You’ve brought us close to many, reminding us that we are “one.” Thank YOU. YOU are God’s promise that the world should go on. 

How I miss hugging you, feeling skin touching skin! How I miss hearing your laughter, wiping your tears, sitting together in silence, seeing you bound up the walk and throw open the door, How I miss smelling the fragrance of your hair, looking into your eyes and touching your soul as you touch mine, how I miss cooking and creating in the kitchen, feasting at the table, swapping stories, and savoring time together. I'm "homesick" for you, even as we  shelter in "at home" so we can be together again. And so much more..... 

Wow! Yes WOW! I’m teary-eyed just thinking about it. Yet I’m thankful,  so very thankful for the privilege of missing you—the privilege of holding precious memories that evoke the longing to be together again—that we have hope of Thanksgiving to come, That we are bound by love. That you love each other—the best gift you’ve ever given your Dad and me.

Now, be safe—and have FUN! 

Zooming soon—and Happy Thanksgiving!   xoxo

                                                                                                                  Mom   xoxo

 

RESPONSE TO FRIENDS*          

A few days ago someone dear to me ("Loren"*)  posted an NPR article projecting what  “Biden’s first 100 days in office” would include, accompanied by his opinion of the article: 

            “NOT!”

Here are comments that followed:  I did not correct spelling, punctuation, or grammar. I highlighted my responses in blue. 

*Pseudonyms used  to protect privacy, except my own. 

Terri

Him to be declared incompetent so The witches can take over

George
Jibberish

Gloria
Communists taking over thats what

Carolyn
i don’t think he will see 100 days i think his little side kick there will see to that

Terri
Shirley I agree

Terri

That is will have him declared incompetent

Sue Long
Praying for his success. Praying for him to have wisdom to help heal a divided country. If he does well, we all benefit.

Loren
Sue Long What is an example of Biden healing anything?

Ted
Loren    Biden seems to make himself rich from his past dealings while being a public servant. His corruption will be swept under the rug if he actually takes office. God help us if we end up with Harris as president and that is not a stretch at all.

Loren
Ted Thank you for your insight

Sue Long
Loren For a starter, his rhetoric is respectful and inclusive. He makes it clear he wants to be your president, too. How can you help?

Karl
with lady macbeth as VP biden's fist task should be to assign some eunuch like bernie sanders as his food taster.

Julie
I’m terrified of him. If he implements some of the things he says he will our trucking business and our farm is all but gone. Fuel shortages, carbon footprint, three times the price for fuel? We lost money during Obama. Trump lifted us up and everyone we know that has businesses. We are hiring and paying great wages... our drivers make $6-7000 a month if they want to run hard . Our 30 yr old son was able to buy his own semi. But he can’t survive lockdowns or high fuel costs. He will be done. He too unestablished. Biden is threatening to raise inheritance tax and do away with the step up plan that will cause our kids to sell the farm and the trucks to pay the taxes. But. That is if we still have them ... we’ve worked 80 hours a weeks at times running our businesses and have done well overall
But they could be gone in a matter of about 3 executive orders in the first 100 days. I don’t understand why folks want socialism and everything run by the government. I’ve cried everyday in the last week.

So please Sue tell me and relieve my husbands and my huge worry. What will Biden do for us? For us and our kids? Like I said we are terrified.

Nannette

Julie  So very true!


Loren
Julie  I tried to respond and this popped up immediately:

Julie
Loren   lol. Well I rest my case How about that Sue Long

Julie
Sue Long this is what my family will loose if he does away with the step up plan. Makes it a little more personal.

                      (photo removed)

• 
  
  Julie
  These are the two trucks we own now. We’ve own trucks since 84. Yes. We’re too old to go broke.
  
  (photo removed)
  
  Julie
  This is our sons truck and trailer. He is a owner operator. A one man company. He cannot survive a bad economy. Like I said it makes it very personal. But unless you’re in our shoes you don’t care. We have family members that are liberal. They actually told us tough luck. But they aren’t involved with any of it. Not immediate. That is a divide I’d love to see Biden heal. Lol. I’m off my pulpit now because it does no good. They already threw down the gauntlet.  

                  (photo removed)

• Loren
• I am SOOO PROUD OF YOU!
• 
  
• Loren
• The nonsense is intense.
• Go to the site I suggested earlier. Getting cancelled  at this point is affirming 

• Julie
  My comment is still showing to me. You can’t see it?
  
  Julie
  Loren
  Yes. Thank you
  
  Julie
  Loren  and I see I got no response from those that love Biden because they can’t defend him when it comes to this. They know he’s threatened to do it. AOC Schumer Pelosi Harris. Gates, Bezo b All make millions and are in bed with China.... yet they let them riot in our cities. No one has ever explained that to me. They just live in denial. Jesus threw them out of the temple. Jesus said to stick up for yourself and trust him. I’m trusting him now. I just don’t trust Biden’s handlers he’s a yes man to the above mentioned.
  
  Loren
  Julie
  Seems pretty obvious. Hating on Trump is the Biden-lovers passtime.
  They DO NOT CARE that biden is not an honorable person.
  
  Sandy
  Julie i do not believe that Bidden will be pres. A lot happening that the media is not telling us. Fraud is being discovered.
  
  Julie
  Sandy. Yup. But to refuse to defend and explain his policies when put up to it is their platform they can’t . We need to protect and stand strong ourselves for upcoming elections too.
  
  Karl
  deep state puppet joe biden's economic plans spell disaster for small businesses. 
• 
  
• Julie you are so right.
  resist the fraudulent and phony biden.
  
  

MY RESPONSE:

I consider carefully what I post and how I respond. This has taken a little longer. When Loren's* post showed up on my feed, I attempted to respectfully reply from my perspective, knowing it would not align with most comments of those who follow his posts. I don’t generally respond to this type of post because I value my relationship with Loren. I don’t stubbornly need to be “right.” I probably should have left it alone, but since I started, I don’t want to disengage. You deserve my response. I truly try to have an open mind and open heart. It is in that spirit that I now respond.  Loren, I hope you know that I love you dearly.

Julie, your trucks are beautiful! Your homeland is gorgeous. I’m glad you've done so well. I want you to keep doing well. You’ve worked hard, and can be proud of yourself. Kudos! I don’t know all that it’s taken for you to succeed in the impressive way you have. Certainly a vision and a plan—and immense work. I’ve not walked in your shoes, but I do care. I’m glad you’ve had the opportunity to pursue your dreams and enjoy their fulfillment—an opportunity not afforded to all.

We also own our own business, and we know first-hand that these times are difficult. There hasn’t been a time that hasn’t been hard work. We, too, work extremely long hours. I understand, and yes, it's scary. I’m deeply humbled by those who have supported and encouraged us along the way. We couldn’t have done it alone. I’m sorry you're having such a difficult time. I wish the best for you and your son.

We have children, too, who know what struggle means. That doesn't pre-empt praying for Biden and wishing him success in helping unite a divided country. I know there's no heaven on earth, and that we will struggle no matter how much or how little we have.

Though I dream for material success for our children, I care more that they are kind, compassionate, honest sons and daughters who humbly and gratefully value truth, freedom, a healthy world, and the unity that love brings. I also want their children to enjoy the fruits of their labors.

Perhaps the greatest struggle for all of us during these times is how can we unite—even when we disagree? How can we be people who truly care about each other? Please forgive me when I’ve failed. I want what I say and what I do to come from a heart of understanding and compassion. This includes hearing your voice, and trying to understand your fears—and doing what I can to help. I’m not sure what that looks like sometimes, but I want to.

 

I hear big assumptions about what people like me supposedly know, and how people who support Biden "can't defend him." With respect, this wasn’t about defending anyone. It began with a NPR article about Biden’s first 100 days in office. 

I resonate with what he hopes to accomplish. The writer of the article first  references what he anticipates as being Biden’s  COVID-19 response: “Assemble a coronavirus task force during his presidential transition.”  I believe that’s a responsible action. 245,361+ reasons and counting.

I also expect Biden will make mistakes, like every USA president who's ever served. I doubt I’ll agree with everything he does.  But I want him to do well, just like I wanted Trump to do well. In my opinion, that’s all the more reason to pray for him.  Don’t you think helping heal a divided country is a worthy goal? My question for Loren was “How can you help?” I received no response.

You reference (without source) several names who you claim have gained their wealth through their connections with China. Whether true or not, what does that have to do with Biden’s first 100 days in office?

President Trump certainly has made his millions, often at the hand of hardworking people who went bankrupt after he didn't pay them. Well-documented cases. (Seems like Ivanka and the Trump family have also made millions from their connections with China). But that’s not what Biden’s first 100 days in office is about. And I don't want to argue.

Loren, you reference “Biden-lovers” in a way that exhibits disdain, disgust, and contempt.  You falsely claim “hating on Trump [is] being the Biden-lovers passtime (sic).” I see accusations that people such as myself are “Trump-haters.” Wrong. This hurts. I wish that we all be “people-lovers,” including loving both Biden and Trump. 

The Good Book also says something about loving our enemies. That doesn’t mean I have to love Trump’s  behavior and the division he has brought to this country. It doesn’t mean you have to embrace Biden’s policies. In my mind, a mandate to love means to speak respectfully of others as humans. That includes Democrats, Liberals, Biden, Harris, and any other ilk. It means attempting to understand my own fears and the fears and dismay of those who see it differently, and to alleviate suffering. I’m trying. 

I’ve heard Trump’s  “us vs. them” rhetoric, his well-documented lies, and seen his divisive actions—even to this day. This is not fake news. Behaviors have consequences. Biden’s do as well. Both will be held accountable. 

I often see responses to posts such as I am responding to that claim “they” (“DemoRats”, “Liberals”, "Libtards", the “radical Left”, etc) have subverted all that President Trump has attempted to do, that Trump has been prisoner to an evil, behind-the scenes secret cabal that orchestrated his demise and fooled millions of the rest of us. These are often accompanied with name calling and accusations about Biden being demented, a pedophile, and other egregious claims. In my opinion, this is fear-driven language and conspiracy thinking coming straight from Trump’s playbook. I think we as the American people are better than this. Truth matters. Where you get it matters. Who you believe matters. You get to choose. So do I. I’ll respect your right to do so, and I will challenge your perception of “truth” when I believe it needs to be challenged. 

You’re right—Jesus threw the moneychangers out of the temple (with tears in his eyes)—the religious elite who misused His name for their own profit. I don’t see Biden doing anything of the sort —especially in the name of religion. I do see many of Trump’s follower’s embrace religion as their mantra, for their own benefit, while displaying contempt for the vulnerable living among us—or who ARE “us.”  With respect, I don't think your analogy holds. 

Interestingly, I don’t see where Jesus said to “stick up for yourself," though He said much about truth, justice, and mercy. That’s for a different discussion. 

The Greatest Commandments say to love God and each other. That’s what I want to do, though I often fail. For that, I’m sorry. 

You’re right—let’s trust Him. Yes. And pray for each other. I wish you well. Signing off. Love to all...