i’ll tell my grandchildren,
about a morning where the mackerel sky from my balcony looked more beautiful than ive ever seen it
about a morning when i peered through my neighbor’s window to greet him, chuckling as he tells me he’s been watching since dawn
about a morning when i gazed through my tv, along with the entire world, at a podium on grand white steps, above a sea of confetti crowds
on this morning my faith in, and hope for, humanity was restored. the house-meeting and door-knocking and data-entering and ballot-filling and prayer-casting had all been carried by the winds of history, flitting down exactly where they were meant to land.
and despite pockets of ignorance amidst the ceremony, the morning was pure bliss. the most beautiful music i’ve ever heard played in the crisp washington air as the clock struck noon, and he became president not with words from human mouths but from the cries of our hearts that sang through the violin strings.
and then he took the stage and spoke what we were all thinking, but with more eloquence, grace, and humility than i could ever muster.
the time has come to set aside childish things
we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals
our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint
we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect
And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world’s resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.
all of these and more gave life to my soul, as justice and mercy skipped into the light, and divisive, exploitive fear cowered below them.
and then another spark of life, in the form of a prayer, reminded me that i am not alone in my experience of God. with his raspy, weary voice, his wisdom pleaded to my ears
With your hands of power and your heart of love, help us then, now, Lord, to work for that day when nations shall not lift up sword against nation, when tanks will be beaten into tractors, when every man and every woman shall sit under his or her own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid, when justice will roll down like waters and righteousness as a mighty stream.
Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around … when yellow will be mellow … when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen.
and then more words to comfort my soul. these words not raspy and withered but pointed and poignant. they ask,
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
and i shiver with gratitude that these words can mark this day for me, where i have none. and i feel to my core that in today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
any sentence begun.
how about one with guantanamo, moratorium, and tribunals.
done.
and as the sun sets in the mackerel sky, my soul sighs, knowing that there is hope that a world will still exist to fill with grandchildren, to crouch at my feet, and listen to this story,
sitting in a rocking chair.
