are making fun of!” I want my friends to be tender with their words when I’m around. To acknowledge my different point of view.

And also.

I shouldn’t have to be in the room.

I am writing this for myself, too. How many times have I made a flippant statement or sarcastic comment denigrating people who vote differently than me? I am just as guilty, though I think my current status in the minority makes me more aware of my words and tone than I used to be.

I would go so far to say that we should watch even what political satire and memes we consume and spread.

It comes down to loving your neighbor as yourself.

If I wouldn’t want the other side laughing at memes ridiculing my point of view, then I’m not going to do it to them. A while back I was very frustrated at some people in my life for getting their news from only one source, but realized I was doing this as well. Now I always read the headlines from left, right, and center so I can see where the people I love are coming from. I know social media feels silly/harmless and it’s easy to say “it’s just a joke,” but I refuse to fuel the us vs. them narrative with what I consume and share, even with jokes. I can’t read/listen to political hate and love and respect my friends and family well.

I’m sure I still make mistakes. I’m sure I’m not as sensitive as I think, and I’m pretty positive even if I hold my tongue, my face might speak for itself (resting judgy face, anyone?).

I wrote this poem so that we all might remember that the other “side” is filled with people we know and love (and just might be sitting in your living room.) Let’s act accordingly.

On to the poem!

In His Name, Aly

*** I’d love to hear any tips or stories you have regarding news/media consumption and loving friends/family/neighbors who may have a different political persuasion than you. I personally get the news from the All Sides Now app and do not share or post any denigrating (even jokey/sarcastic) memes or stories, even in dms/directly to people I know agree with me. I have also stopped watching political satire, which I believe has a place in revealing truth, but for me, it just reinforced negative views of the people I love.

***This poem originally came from my Plunge/Paint/Poem practice. Sign up for my weekly(ish) Plunge/paint/poem updates if you don’t want to miss one!

have come out to greet the monks with flowers and provisions. In every town, the police have provided safe ​escort and support, and every community has welcomed and offered unique means of care. Thousands of people have been a blessing to them and have in turn, been blessed. 

​Grandpa Harold was a “Christian truck-driving John Wayne”. It didn’t matter that he probably stood 5’ 6” or that he only had an eighth-grade education. He was going to make it to wherever he was heading in his truck, or “don’t come after me because you’ll never get as far as I got!” Oh, did I mention that he loved to tell stories?! The more colorful and filled with embellishments, the better, and he never met a stranger he wasn’t willing to share them with.
 
But most important, in his view, was that he was a Christian. His moral compass was firmly set on the principles of the Gospel, and he was intent on letting the Holy Spirit be his co-pilot as the miles sped by. Ever looking for ways to occupy the time, he often prayed. During one prayer time, he asked God if he could have a “calling” on his life. He was thinking of the story of how God called Billy Graham to ministry. He heard a quiet response, “Use what you have in your hands.” It seemed odd because he was driving a truck, but he tucked the thought away and kept driving.
 
It wasn’t long before the new church he was helping to build, First Assembly of God in Spokane, Washington, was more than an architect’s dream. Once the building was up and completed, they announced from the pulpit the need for volunteers. One position was for the Sunday school bus driver. That quiet nudge to use his hands on a steering wheel quickly became a reality. My grandma, Velma, walked miles of neighborhoods signing up young children to attend, and my grandpa picked them up and dropped them off … for 41 years!  41! Not just 41 years of Sundays, but choir trips, youth group outings, and even senior trips.
 
Ministry can be that simple. It’s just being willing to say “yes” to whatever way God wants to use even the smallest of talents — and then glorifying Him through them. Grandpa Harold picked up kids in a bus … but there wasn’t a single child or adult that climbed his stairs that didn’t get a personal welcome by name, a funny tease, or a word of encouragement, and many of those kids, and then their kids, were introduced to their Faith because he said “yes” to using his driving skills.
 
So, this young pastor stood in a pulpit 60 years later and told the story of Grandpa Harold, the bus driver who brought his dad to church as a young man, that in turn enabled him to grow up in a Christian home and to receive the kind of direction and encouragement he needed to find his calling as a pastor.
 
Let’s practice saying “yes!” You never know where or how God will bless your efforts.
 
In His Name, Dana