A Hard River Crossed

It was Saturday morning, November 7th, 2020. I was washing dishes, elbow deep in soapy water. The phone rang, and I paused, then let it go to voice mail. It rang again a few minutes later, and then again. What on earth? I thought. The next time, I answered, and in a blink of an eye, my whole world changed.

Where were you when you heard that the election had been called? I think many of us will never forget that moment. For me, it was such a relief. After almost four years of stress and worry, a weight fell from my shoulders. I felt like I could finally breathe. And millions of others felt the same. People across America poured into the streets, dancing and singing. The air was filled with shouts of joy and drivers honking.

The world celebrated with us, too. Church bells rang in Germany, and in the UK fireworks lit the night sky. Bridges were lit up red, white and blue. Messages poured in online from Canada, Australia, Finland, Kenya, Japan, India and more, congratulating us and welcoming us back into the family. "America First" has left us "America Alone", and it's been a lonely four years.

Maybe, just maybe, now we could have a president who is competent and caring. Maybe now we could get a good night's sleep, instead of always worrying what was next, what new crisis or outrage we'd wake up to. Maybe we could move on as a nation.

That was only a week ago, but like so many things this past four years, within a day that relief has been swept away by the next tide of worry. It feels like a distant memory, doesn't it?

Soon reality set in. The President's refusal to concede the election. Lies and lawsuits swirling around the internet. Half the country sure it was stolen, the other half exasperated and anxious. With the worry of what will happen in these next uncertain weeks plus the surge of the coronavirus, the future looks more tumultuous than ever.

This year has been a trudge across shaky ground, and a crossing, over and over, of deep rivers. Again and again we've stood at the shore, staring out at raging water and new challenges. There was no choice but to go on, really, so again and again we've waded wearily in and struggled to the other side. This last one was the hardest yet, and we swam it together, day by day, struggling to stay afloat. Last week we finally waded to shore, exhausted. We had a little time to warm up at a campfire and rest together, to talk and laugh and celebrate.

But there's another river to cross, and another after that. There's a long journey ahead of us, and somehow we'll need to find the other half of the country and start finding a common direction.

But let's remember that feeling of relief, and not let it get buried under the fresh anxiety. In a year when so much has been taken from us, hold that memory tight. When the future looks bleak, take a moment to look back at that river and nod in satisfaction. The wild elation of that day feels a long time ago, and I guess, considering how much we have to face, that's to be expected. But remember it as a river crossed and a giant accomplishment.

Then let's turn, look ahead, take a deep breath and head out together.

Stay safe, and see you at the next shore.