I spend a lot of time second guessing myself lately. Professional decisions loom large, my faith is constantly tested, my patience is frayed. The only thing I know for sure is that I am called to write. To lay down these words at the altar of hope.
Two days ago, a gunman, a homegrown hate criminal, dealt death to 11 individuals in a Pittsburg synagogue because he had a perverted idea that Jews are the enemy of his (white) people. I won't even go into how this situation has been heightened and incited by US political leaders. You already know.
I have struggled over and over again with how to talk about instances like today. How to write with a modicum of kindness in the face of hatred. Whether lashing out is the right thing to do because there's no excuse for this behavior. Murder is never the right decision. The fact that anyone has to say that out loud is ridiculous.
I do know that we have to love each other better. I've been haunted by brash, generalized statements I made during the election. I could've done better. Much better. I did not love well.
Right now, the biggest call I feel is to tell the people around me how deeply loved they are. Everyone in my life, from you, readers, to my family, friends, the people I've grown up with. I love them all for one reason or another. I feel the need to tell them. To be openly kind, even in the face of disagreement.
Does that mean we shouldn't call out lies? No. I wouldn't let my son get away with that. I wouldn't let him lie or be hateful. I would lovingly correct and guide him.
We have to love better. More thoroughly. It doesn't fix everything, but it's a start. It's something I can offer.