“Where have you been? Are you still writing? You haven’t posted a blog in two months? You haven’t called me in three months. DID YOU DIE, CHICA?”
These are the types of texts and phone calls I’ve been getting lately from family and friends. I had no idea that when I stepped back to assess the survival of my sanity due to the constant chaos assailing our lives on this Earth, that it would cause such consternation on my behalf. Shit! I’m not dead. I’m just worn out from fear and worry that I am losing control, that my grandchildren will grow up having been thrown back into the 1950’s living in a racist Handmaid’s Tale, part deux. Plus, I don’t know how to live in the midst of seeing our country circling the giant toilet drain in the sky. Tik-Tok—waiting for the flush. Am I depressed? Not completely, but am I a very, very sad 74-year-old? Girl, you don’t even know the half of it!
That’s why I had to shut up, sit down, and ponder the sad state of affairs in our country. The problem is that I believe in God. Unfortunately, I’m wondering if he believes in me/us anymore? The “Big Lie” perpetrated by Trump and the hateful tentacles of it keep mushrooming and calcifying, while the presence of God (goodness, love, truth, mercy, hope, joy, grace, righteousness) seems to be drowning in the sewage of the malcontents.
My sadness comes from the deep-down sensation that maybe “my country tis of thee” is not going to survive its own hubris and major stupidity because so many of the grownups in the Republican party seem to have sold their souls and left the room. I am an optimist by nature and a god-fearing woman by default. Until recently, I believed in prayer and that my prayers were heard. Silly? Maybe. But “I’ve come this far by faith, leaning on the Lord,” I definitely don’t want to renege on my faith when I’m getting so close to death. No matter how horrible things get, I’ve always tried to end on a note of hope—especially in what I write. At least I did up until recently, which is why I’ve been incommunicado of late. My hope has been in freefall. I sense a religious civil war on the horizon, led by people who claim to love Jesus and who worship at the altar of Trump, and I don’t see God fighting back on our behalf or his reputation.
I’m resurfacing now because, just recently, I caught a tiny glimmer of hope of our survival. I started hopscotch reading through the history of mankind, and rediscovered as I have before, but temporarily forgot, that mankind has always existed on the fragile line of destruction—from outside marauders as well as enemies from within. Many times, the enemies from within were the “Jesus” believers of their time (Crusaders, Nazis, slave owners and traders, Apartheid rulers, KKK cross burners, Rwanda massacres, American pioneers slaughtering indigenous people…the list is endless). Mankind has always thought they were better than they actually were—carrying the flag of believing in Christ while trampling on his character. What seemed to save the human race each time was a remnant of good, courageous, and dedicated people willing to fight back with every bit of love and moral clarity they could muster. It is always the “few” who become the resistance movement—the heroes: the David vs. the Goliath or a Martin Luther King, Jr who lift up the lantern of righteousness to set ablaze our moral code to save us all. In my meditations on the fragility of mankind, I ran across one of Dr. King’s quotes—one of my favorites, and I felt strengthened:
“When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” —Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
I have hope again, in spite of the current landscape that surrounds us. I’m brushing off the ashes from my sackcloth, and I’m joining the remnant that will fight the lies and hatred for the rest of my life and my grandchildren’s lives. I’m also waiting—praying again for God to show up!
Eleanor Tomczyk is an author and a satirist who is an award-winning voice-over performer. In 2011, she created the blog, “How the Hell Did I End Up Here” which features mostly satirical posts that have thousands of readers around the world—although she was recently banned in Pakistan (for real!). Tomczyk’s three books were featured in a recent book festival: “Monsters’ Throwdown,” “Fleeing Oz,” and “The Fetus Chronicles—Podcasts to my Miseducated Self.” Currently in her 70s and living life like it is freakin’ golden, she is a consummate storyteller and much sought-after motivational speaker. If you don’t believe me, just ask her!
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how the hell did i end up here? 