Divided, We Fall

Several months ago I wrote about the presidential elections, but wouldn't reveal the candidate I was backing. Now that we have a new president in office - and the fight is obviously over - I figure it's OK to tell you this: My guy didn't win.

I'm what you'd call one of the Republican "party faithful": I've done phone banks, canvassing, rallies, and fund-raisers. I've visited the RNC headquarters in Washington, D.C., and met several Republican leaders. Perhaps my most impressive GOP credential: I once shook hands with Mr. NRA, Charlton Heston. Yes, I'm a Republican through and through. And yet, I'm optimistic about our new commander-in-chief, who happens to be a member of the Democratic Party.

It saddens me that some Republicans are acting as if President Barack Obama's inauguration never happened. Salon.com writer Thomas F. Schaller noticed that the RNC still portrayed George W. Bush as president on its website even 10 days into the Obama administration.

Indeed, if all Republicans were like the ones portrayed in the documentary Right America: Feeling Wronged, which aired on HBO last week, the American population should have decreased 50 percent by now. In her documentary, filmmaker Alexandra Pelosi interviewed Republicans on the campaign trail who'd vowed to leave the country if John McCain didn't win the presidency. The documentary included footage of grown men and women bawling as they declared their allegiance to McCain - and their disgust toward Obama. Some interviewees proudly proclaimed they'd continue wearing their "Obama sucks" t-shirts regardless of the election results. When Pelosi asked one McCain supporter how he would "feel about America" if his candidate lost, the man tearfully replied, "It's going to sour me. I'll do what I can. I'll keep my head up."

As I watched, I initially was offended that Pelosi would stereotype Republicans as crybabies who'd turn our backs on our country if we lost political control. Then I realized: This does reflect how a percentage of the American population truly feels. I've heard folks say they'll be in mourning for the next four years - some have even dressed entirely in black. Personally, I think their expressions of distaste are in poor taste.

Don't get me wrong: I'm proud to be a Republican. (I'll surely be voting for the GOP candidate in 2012.) But first and foremost, I'm proud to be an American. My commitment to my country transcends party lines and ideologies.

So I respect the decision of the American people, and have been looking for common ground with my new president by listening to his speeches on YouTube. I've discovered President Obama believes (just like me!) that a great nation is formed through the efforts of hard-working individuals. Yet we cannot be great, he says, unless we work hard together.

He backed up this sentiment by launching a non-partisan website, USAService.org, which lists community service projects within local neighborhoods. I did a search on the site using my zip code and found numerous volunteer opportunities: planting trees, beach clean-ups, mentoring programs, food drives, cancer research fundraisers, even shelving books for local schools.

President Obama's focus on unity and community - and his rallying words, "Yes we can!" - is just what America needs right now. For too long, our focus has been entirely on the individual: Each person values her own work, her efforts, and her rights above everything else. This me-centered attitude causes individuals to leave community - and to break commitments - whenever things don't go their way. Americans do this with increasing frequency in marriages. (Do I feel satisfied with my spouse? Would I be happier with someone else? Is this marriage working for me?)

The American church, too, has been infected with an overemphasis on the individual. (Am I tired of the music? Do I feel the pastor has lost his charisma? Did someone at church offend me?) Any bit of personal discomfort becomes sufficient reason to look for a new church. Even worship and spiritual growth become individual endeavors: We focus on a personal savior, and personal relationship with God solely through individual prayer and study. In reading the Bible, our focus becomes, What does this passage mean to me? It's a tragedy when we completely ignore the importance of the body of Christ. (Check out my blog from last month, where I discussed how Christian community is necessary for an individual's spiritual growth.)

A couple years ago, when my friend Ed Gilbreath's book Reconciliation Blues: A Black Evangelical's Inside View of White Christianity (IVP) was published, critics thanked him for exposing a major problem in the church - racial division - which has been largely unaddressed. However, some said his book fell short because it didn't offer a complete solution to the problem! Heaven help us when we think it's acceptable to place the burdens of the church on the shoulders of individual members.

The same holds true for our new president; one man isn't going to save America. President Obama is wise to recognize this - that's why he's called on all Americans to roll up our sleeves and get to work, together. I hope this communal effort will meet with success, and that the Christian church will be the first to model it. After all, we're in this together. Divided, we will fall.

Seeding the Snow

It's two degrees outside, and my mailbox is overflowing with lilies and tomatoes. Pictures of them, that is. Seed catalogs.

They began turning up just before Christmas, sandwiched between the Visa bills, gilded Christmas cards, and letters from friends we haven't seen in years. In the midst of carols, baking, and family festivities, the seed catalogs were piled on an end table, largely forgotten. Until today.

I love how they arrive in the dead of winter, dependable as the liturgy. So much promise for just pennies a packet. Some of the catalogs are slick and polished, with an abundance of exaggerated hyperbole. "Exclusive!" "Summer Madness Hybrid Double Petunia," "Picture Perfect Salmon Pink Coleus," "A tapestry of stunning colors and textures." No shy descriptions here.

In all the catalogs, warm colors proliferate: reds, oranges, yellows. A kaleidoscope of hot peppers on one page, zinnias like fireworks on the next. I soak up colors, the butter yellows of sweet corn, the bright pinks of impatiens, the deep greens of basil.

Outside, it's difficult to think about planting anything. Fourteen inches of snow have obliterated all signs of my backyard garden. The pond is frozen solid under the drifts, leaving a slight depression, shadowed blue in the low-slanting February light. It's wreathed with tracks, ghost-signs of life, the local squirrels and coyotes checking to be sure their water hole is truly inaccessible. My bird feeders are empty and silent. Steam curls up invitingly from the heated birdbath, but there are no takers. Despite the harsh particulars, the landscape is easy on the eyes. Restful and quiet.

Meanwhile, the world's all about unrest. The newspaper flung on the kitchen counter has the same headlines as a day ago, a week ago, a month ago. The economy nose-dives. Companies lay off tens of thousands. Epidemics and starvation decimate Africa. Corruption plagues my local government. On Wall Street, those who have much want more and don't hesitate to cheat those who have little. Our youngest child just flew the nest, and I worry. What kind of world is this for my children?

I don't believe it was an accident that God began the world with a garden. Scripture brims with references to planting and tending a garden, from the parable of the sower in Mark 4:3 - "A farmer went out to sow his seed" - to the parable of the vineyard in Matthew 20:1 - "The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire men to work in his vineyard" - to God's admonition to Adam in Genesis 2:15 - "The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it."

Planting a garden and caring for it is a spiritual act for me, and also a nostalgic act. When I was eight, waiting my turn at piano lessons, I leafed through my teacher's magazine rack. She was an avid gardener, and the Burpee garden catalog was her Bible. Mesmerized, I turned the pages, amazed that all the vegetables I saw at the grocery store - and more - could come from seeds you ordered from a catalog. At eight, the world is brimming with dreams and possibilities, all realizable. I begged my mother for a small corner of the yard, and she helped me place my seed order. I planted, and I waited.

Like all gardens, mine was subject to weeds. And, like all small gardeners - and some older ones - I wasn't inclined to pull them. Soon my flowers and veggies were threatened by burdock and thistle. Beneath the weeds and first up were the radishes. I didn't like them and neither did anyone else, although they decorated the family salads all spring. The carrots barely cracked the hardpan earth. I bought a few tomato plants at the hardware store to fill in the blanks.

But the morning glories, "Heavenly Blue," how beautiful they were! Despite my neglect, they twined up the chain-link fence, opening only in the morning (as the good old-fashioned ones do). Now, the seed catalogs have all sorts of hybrids that stay open "well into the day," but I still like the old-fashioned ones that only bloom a few hours. Get up early, or you'll miss them. They remind me to pay attention.

The "Heavenly Blue" morning glories are still in the Burpee catalog . . . and so much more. At 47, I still dream. I can plant flowers to attract butterflies or hummingbirds. I can conjure up a garden of herbs specifically for tea. I might recreate the tallgrass prairie or a wildflower meadow on my little plot, or grow paste tomatoes to make special Italian dishes. Each page is another possibility.

When you watch a seed crack the earth, put out leaves, then blossom and fruit into food for your family, it gives you hope. When you see a dry husk sprout and become a beautiful pinwheel of color, it prompts you to dream. A garden is an act of defiance; a determination to focus on new life and beauty in the midst of a world in crisis. It's a blow struck for believing things will change for the better.

Not to say that those newspaper headlines don't have their influence. They drag me down, they lurk, unspoken, in the back of my mind. My thoughts are sown with the seeds of cynicism, despair, and darkness. Combating the worries the best I can, I write them in my journal, then light a candle at my kitchen table and pray. I offer these worries to God, asking him to handle each one. Then I release them. They aren't gone for good, but I find it's a beginning.

When Job wondered why bad things happened, God answered his questions with a tour through the wonders of nature. "Who do you suppose carves canyons for the downpours of rain, and charts the route of thunderstorms that bring water to unvisited fields, deserts no one ever lays eyes on, drenching the useless wastelands so they're carpeted with wildflowers and grass? And who do you think is the father of rain and dew, the mother of ice and frost? You don't for a minute imagine these marvels of weather just happen, do you?" (Job 38:22-30, The Message). The God who created all these wonders is the God I can go to when I'm afraid.

I'm also reminded of Matthew 6:27: "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" I don't want my life to be defined by worry and fear; I don't want my garden to be choked with "weeds." I want to put down deep roots, to grow and to bloom, and to reach toward sunlight and warmth. I want to plant a garden for the future, one that is seeded with contentment, joy, and hope for what might be.

I can't control the plummeting economy, the unrest in the Middle East, the injuries and illnesses of loved ones. I don't understand the injustices and calamities of the world, trumpeted in bold newspaper headlines each morning, but I know the God who loves me - and who made all the wonders of the outdoors - is holding me close to his heart. I can choose my response: "When I am afraid, I will trust in you" (Psalm 56:3).

I make out my seed list, adding some flowers and herbs here, crossing off a few vegetables there. Drawing the outline of where the new roses will go, mentally shifting the iris to another spot by the pond. I can't shift my worries so easily, but each time I choose to plan a garden, it brings me one step closer. I dream, and I choose to believe . . . and to hope.