Things change; not a secret.
Amber wisps of frosted grass
call me to ponder.
The world changes constantly despite many’s hope for things to stay the same, to be great again, or some other narrative of the good ol’ days. Nature, politics, religion, art — it all changes. Change today seems to occupy a dizzying atmosphere. Is the rate of change increasing? Or does it just feel that way due to angry, pointed, truth-challenged rhetoric spewing from halls of power and beyond seemingly without filter?
My tendency has been to want to yell back at faces of hatred and privilege. But I don’t know where to point my words, what to say, how to say it…and my words evaporate in the ever-present, everywhere-present stench of political, religious, and economic word storms. Does one more oldish white guy shouting into the noise contribute anything worthwhile to the conversation anyway?
Lately I’m trying to be quiet. Quiet, to listen for hope or truth coming from the noise cloud. Quiet, to listen for good words falling on our frosted plain. Quiet, listening for hopeful words to begin, even for a time, to fill our spacious skies. And by words of hope I don’t mean passing trends or word promises like tax cuts or increased military spending or parades or superiority of this group or that group.
I mean words that spark a genuine turning to the idea of we the people…inclusionary, compassionate, and grace-filled where all humankind pursues happiness under beautiful skies without fear of this thing or that thing threatening their very person.
Words often fail me. Words are everywhere today. It’s loud. It’s unsettling. It’s discouraging.
But listening, I begin to hear words of hope and grace.
And as they reach my eyes and ears, I ponder…