Brilliant winter sun-rays
Filter through frigid air
Endangering darkroom eyes
Unaccustomed to light
Blinking he looks away
Unwilling to sacrifice
Hazy unclear sight for clarity
Or the fine details of truth
Better the sweet comfort
Of blurred lines mixing
Facts with fiction or
Reducing them to nothing
From pillar to post
He makes his lonely way
Lost in an internal maze
I didn’t set out to write about Mr. Trump, yet it seems I have. So now I’m sitting here wondering what’s going on in me. Have I given up on his presidency? Disengaged myself from caring anymore?
That might happen if I believed that whatever he does, I will likely weather the storm. Yet I don’t believe that. His actions put us and others at risk every day.
More likely, I wrote this because I lack visible power over what’s happening in Washington. I voted. Now it seems there’s no more I can do to make a visible difference.
Nor can I say I hope for something better from Mr. Trump. I don’t. I’m an aging citizen, with limited time and energy. I want to know how to make my voice and my concerns heard.
Though I could perhaps feel sorry for Mr. Trump, that isn’t an option. He has openly chosen his way of doing business, and is following it regardless of intended or unintended outcomes for our nation or our allies.
What now? If I remember right, Jesus rebuked those who paraded their supposed righteousness before everyone’s eyes. Instead, he recognized with gratitude and admiration the widow who, almost unnoticed, gave from her heart the bit she had.
I want to find my bit, and offer it from my heart. Not to Mr. Trump, but to this world God already loves — the same world I’m learning to love in spite of our differences and blurred visions of reality.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 January 2019
Photo found at freepik.com