Two days ago, I posted my discomfort with the protest that took place inside Cities Church—a Southern Baptist Church in the decidedly northern Minnesota. I noted that this position would surprise many. After all, I’ve spent the last year decrying the evils of this presidential administration in general and of ICE in specific. I’ve been vocal about my disbelief that actual Christians seem to support this.

So you’d think I’d be all for disrupting the worship service of a church where a pastor, David Easterwood, was also an ICE official.

And yet, I wasn’t. Not because I didn’t understand the impulse. Not because I didn’t support the cause. Not because, as one Facebook commenter suggested, I believed worship should be safe and I was trying to protect “white bodies.” And not because, as another suggested, I subconsciously related to this congregation.

Ew. As if.

In fairness, I understand how they’d think this. Especially if this was the first post of mine they’d seen…ever. After all, lots of people who had been silent on (or supportive of) ICE’s brutal, illegal, un-American harassment tactics, on their murders of Renee Good and Silverio Villegas-Gonzalez (just a few miles east of my home), on ICE’s ill treatment of those within detention facilities were suddenly outraged over a disrupted worship service.

If you think that is how I have been, I get the uproar.

But alas, a quick scroll of my Facebook feed shows you it is not.

Believe me, I understand both the impulse and the rationale to disrupt that service. I understand that this non-violent action was about protecting the vulnerable, about seeking justice. I understand the importance of confronting a pastor about some very unChristlike behavior. And I understand that we are very close to something of a civil war.

Likewise, I know that Jesus flipped the money-changers’ tables. I know he kicked those dove-seller’s stools and drove them out of his father’s house. But hear me out (and this is where some of you are gonna get mad): Not all is fair or right in love and war. And Jesus (according to tradition) flipped those tables on a Monday. Flippin’ Monday of Holy Week. I think this matters. Maybe not.

Either way, there is something extra emotional about actions that happen in or are targeted at houses of worship. A firebomb that kills little girls getting ready for choir hits harder than one that kills them at Applebees. A swastika spray painted on the side of a synagogue packs a bigger punch than one painted on a WalMart wall. A community protesting the building of a mosque (or certainly, the bombing, the fires, et al that happen) stings more than protests for building a bandshell in the wrong place in a park. The story of a woman shot and killed on her way to church feels worse than if she were on her way to work.

Why?

Because by nature, places of worship elicit that response. They feel more vulnerable and thus hit our hearts harder. Places of worship are sanctuaries—safe places—or they should be—no matter who is worshiping inside or what or how they worship. Even if they are wrong. Even if they are very wrong as I do believe in the case of Cities Church in St. Paul.

And this is why, of course, the protestors chose to protest inside this. They were communicating the lack of safety a community felt by breaching the safety of worship.

I get it.

It struck harder to disrupt inside than to do so outside. The congregants described the act as “an unacceptable trauma.”

Uh huh. Right.

Even still, here’s where I land—as a liberal, privileged middle-aged white woman who has left jobs, lost clients and relationships over my unapologetic defense of the oppressed and vulnerable and in response to cruel and unChristlike treatment by Christians: It is our right to worship as we feel in this country. It is a church’s (or synagogue or mosque or temple or whatever) right to have clergy who believe horrible things. It is a church’s right to have a pastor who says horrible things. And I believe—to do so without reasonable disruption.

Partly, it’s just me. Because it feels impolite and because I’m socially awkward about disruptions (e.g., I had a hard time asking a grocery worker to scootch over so I could get to the bananas at Whole Foods earlier today).

But mostly it’s because this action—protesting during a church service—feels like crossing a big civil liberty line. And I’m a big civil liberties person (join us at the Illinois ACLU Lunch this April?).

I know the Right has crossed every line imaginable. But it doesn’t mean we need to. Or should.

To me, this action feels like book bans or burnings. We’re gonna shut you up because we don’t like what you say/think/feel.

To me, this feels like ICE banning clergy from serving the eucharist to ICE detainees. Only those the government approves are allowed to do this.

To me, this action feels like churches who say women or queers can’t be pastors. We’re not going to include your church in our city-wide gatherings because of your apostate beliefs—and tell congregants who disagree they are going to hell.

Of course, these aren’t equal. I mean, it was just one protest in a sea of absolute injustice and tyranny. I get that. Which is why I said on an outrage scale of 0 to 100, with this administration’s horrors being 100, I rank the St. Paul in-worship protest a 0.15.

But here’s the thing: I don’t want this to be the future of the Left. And I worry it could be. (Which, strangely, is a sign of hope that I can even consider this evil dictatorship will one day end!) After all, we know this country is willing to elect a tyrant. We know our Congress is bend the knee and turn away from accountability. I’m not fool enough to think this is only the domain of the Right.

There are Leftist megalomaniacs, you know. And there are folks out there licking their chops for this kind of unrestrained power.

I am not saying that’s what was happening in this church—but I worry it could be.

It’s not beyond the pale to think some day, an all-powerful Lefty could tell churches they either perform same-sex marriages and take offerings for abortions—or they must pay taxes. An all-powerful Lefty could decide that religious schools must teach evolution and about birth control, about the wide spectrum of genders, about sexuality and sex positions in their health classes—or lose funding or, again, pay taxes.

And while I support gay marriage and am pro-choice and while I believe in teaching students about sex (age-appropriately) and birth control and certainly evolution, I don’t think religious institutions should be forced to comply. This is still (barely) America.

And if I believe that, I have to defend the right of the Right to have a pastor who terrorizes communities, who kidnaps human beings, who pepper sprays protestors, who shoots women in the face and calls them fucking bitches afterward while casually walking to their cars. I long for the day these people are arrested, tried, and imprisoned, but in the meantime, it seems to be legal, so if a church wants that, God help them, but so be it!

Certainly, communities should know what this pastor does, what this church supports. Certainly, the press should be notified, protests should be held. Parents should be warned what sending their kids to this church’s VBS might entail. Certainly, Christians should act like Jesus—and march into the pastor’s office on a Monday. But interrupting their worship? Something historically and globally so rare and precious?

I still gotta say no. I’m nothing if not a person who stands up for the liberties of all. And sometimes, that really stinks.

In the meantime, please join me in contributing to one of the many amazing organizations in Minneapolis who are providing food for those who feel they cannot leave their homes due to the monstrous actions of ICE.

Those of us still on X have seen lots of twittering about the Oklahoma U student crying foul (and Christian persecution) after getting zero points on her essay on gender. The assignment was to write a 650-word essay that engaged with an assigned article and incorporated personal experiences. Love rubrics or hate them (and to be honest, I hate rubrics, but I am not a teacher), the rubric clearly stated how points would be awarded, including that no points would be given for an essay under 620 words.

From my read of the essay, the student did sort of bring her personal experience in the form of her personal religious beliefs into the piece, but she didn’t engage with the assigned article. Nor did she cite any of the Scripture she vaguely referenced when referring to “God’s plan” for gender and the demonic nature of those who disagree with her.

Also of note, her essay was well below 620 words. Even still, the graduate assistant who assigned the essay offered helpful feedback—and a lot of it. A wise student would’ve heeded the feedback, listened, and learned.

And perhaps this student would’ve—had the instructor not used the word offensive (about the student calling a people group demonic) and if the instructor weren’t transgender.

But alas, here we are.

And so, rather than learn and grow, rather than maybe gruff about it to her roommates like a normal, mature student (she is a junior Sooner), the student filed a discrimination complaint and shared her essay with Oklahoma!’s Turning Point USA chapter, who then melted down over this “discrimination.”

Lord Almighty.

As a Christian, as a writer, as an editor, of course, I have thoughts on all this. But they may surprise you.

Because I am also outraged.

Not by the terrible grade, mind you. Not because this is any kind of persecution or discrimination.

But because conservative Christians still haven’t learned how to use the Bible to back up their arguments properly. And in my nearly thirty years in Christian publishing, after nearly a decade working in a church, I have been trying to make this happen. I have been trying to help!

As have so many other editors and instructors out there. And we’re not making much progress—at least with certain groups.

Though there are exceptions, as a rule, the MAGA movement, the Turning Point USA sorts, the “Christian” Nationalists, and the regular conservative Evangelicals argue points so lazily. The talking points they parrot are so vapid. And when this is pointed out (as I try to do), they too often refuse correction and fail to “own the libs” like they desperately want to because of it.

So, once again, I will try to help.

In my role as an editor, I work with a lot of clients I disagree with. I have said it before and will say it again: I am a “bake the cake” editor. That means, I won’t refuse to edit a project because I disagree or find your viewpoint wrong.* In fact, I enjoy editing projects from different points of view, and I make it a key part of my job to help clients make their arguments—even, especially ones I disagree with—better, stronger, and more persuasive!

And what I end up telling my Christian clients (who are amazing and do tend to trust and listen to me!) again and again, is that the key to good, persuasive faith-based writing is summoning the devil.

Well, let me back that up.

First, if you want to write persuasively for the cause of Christ, study the art and craft of writing. Take a class. Read a book. Join a writers group. And learn to take freaking feedback and leave Turning Point USA out of it.

Among the things you’ll learn are how to write clearly, concisely, and for the love of God, to cite sources properly. How to quote Scripture and include the chapter and verse. How to drop a footnote when you share what some word means in the “original” language. Because you’ll understand those sources matter.

But then after you learn some basic writing skills, it’s time to invoke the devil—our inner devil’s advocate, that is.

Good persuasive writers examine our arguments from every side, pick them up and turn them around. We squint and scrutinize, pushing back on our own theses and assumptions and anticipating where and how others will disagree. When sourcing Scripture, we ask why one verse says one thing and another says the opposite (and be able to admit that yes, this happens all the time….).

We understand that writing God says is not a mic drop. Never has been. Never will be.

We understand that those who reject God says as a proof-of-a-point are not bigots or anti-Christian or persecuting anyone. They are using their God-given brains.

And we understand that persuasive writing is not for the faint of heart, the soft of spirit.

To write an opinion requires courage. To write an opinion about the Bible requires even more. To write an opinion that goes against what you think your professors or editors or clients or bosses believe requires nerves of steel.

But the nerve it takes to assume you can simply add “God says” to a piece of writing intended to be taken seriously like this student did? That’s “I love the uneducated”-level embarrassing.

And yet, I’m not without sympathy. This student has likely been raised to believe this country and Big University is against her for loving Jesus. And she’s likely been raised in a faith tradition where the Bible and pastoral proclamations are never questioned or examined (maybe even because she’s a woman, but I haven’t checked that).

This student goes to school in a state where politicians believe that hanging the Ten Commandments in classrooms will magically free kids from murderous or sexual impulses and make them love YHWH—or whatever they suppose this will do.

And she exists in a time when the president and his administration believe because they say something—clunkily, in the case of Trump and his administration; expertly, in the case of the late Charlie Kirk—it becomes truth and should be taken as such. And their followers comply. To be a Republican today is to accept what Trump, et al, say as truth—unquestioningly, uncritically. (Though, thanks be to God, I am seeing some of this changing.)

The trouble for those who claim Trump and Christ (aside from, oh, Matthew 6:24 and that gosh-dang first commandment) is that Trump may insist we follow blindly, but God does not.

God could’ve given us Holy Scriptures with clear bullet points on what God Says about X,Y,Z. Instead, God in God’s goodness gives us Scripture filled with poetry and letters, collected oral histories, laws, and prophecies, some agreeing with one another, some seemingly at odds. It’s as if God wanted us to think.

Jesus spoke in parables, telling stories so that we would wonder and ask, so we would question and investigate. And all these centuries later, the wise faithful still wrestle with the Bible, with the meanings, with the applications, with what “God says” about just about everything.

The saddest thing about this whole episode to me is that this could’ve been a great essay. This student could’ve shared how her peers in her community shaped her understanding of gender, of how she sees herself and her role. She could’ve quoted Scripture that supported her arguments—and had the courage to engage Scripture that didn’t—and connected it all thoughtfully to the assigned article. She could’ve engaged her mind and spirit, her body and soul and presented something that the TA might still have disagreed with, but have been compelled to reckon with.

Instead, it turned into an embarrassing whine fest for the student and Turning Point USA, and, of course, an unfortunate investigation for a TA who was trying to hold a student accountable and help.

All this to say, MAGA, please: If you want to change hearts and minds, if you want to persuade, if you want to draw people to Jesus, if you want to own us libs, learn the craft, summon your inner devil’s advocate, and think, question, wonder, test, explore, research—whether or your source is the Bible or something else.

Of course, I suspect most still won’t listen. After all, doing this means MAGA might become what they hate: good, interesting, thinking, feeling, caring human beings.

*I have passed on projects, the most recent one that amounted to defending child abuse.

One of my dogs, my sweet Pigeon, died nearly three weeks ago. To be more precise, we had him put “to sleep.” One of those terrible decisions dog lovers must make when the price of living is just too high. In Pigeon’s case, the sarcoma in his leg left him lame, which he dealt with, until he began to drag one foot in a way that clarified it was time for a merciful ending. It was time to “fly to Jesus,” as I’d tell him.

Even still, Pigeon was happy. He ate, he slurped, he wagged his tail, he snuggled, and he loved me so, so much until his last breath.

And I loved him. To be more precise, I love him—as I believe 100 percent that his precious pit-bull spirit lives on.

While some question my faith and “terrible theology” based on my inclusive views of queer people or my concern for immigrants or my rebellion against our authoritarian regime, one should really question my thoughts about heaven.

Indeed, since the days after Pigeon’s death, my family and I have imagined all sorts of heavenly happenings: from Pigeon’s “Welcome Week” festivities, to awkward encounters with squirrels and cicadas he’d previously sent to Glory, to his first day of Spooky School (Pigeon was sneaky, a lovey lurker, so if anyone’s gonna be a ghost, it’ll be him. Another of my pits will for sure be put on Judgement Day duty. IYKYK).

While there’s a lot to critique about my views on the afterlife—and animal souls—it’s been wonderful spending so much time imagining heaven and glorying in the amazingly high and wide and deep love of a God who is so good to give us dogs.

I share all this not to be a downer, but because when Charlie Kirk was brutally murdered, gunned down in broad daylight like too many Americans, heaven was already very much on my mind.

Perhaps that’s why I noticed all the heaven talk so much.

Not about Charlie going to heaven, mind you. (And yes, I believe he’s there.)

But rather, about Charlie’s legacy—of reaching young men with “the gospel,” of assuring they get to heaven.

As I wrote earlier, I’d barely heard of Charlie Kirk. I certainly had no idea Charlie was Christian or that he proselytized. As I’ve come to see, this was yet again another example of how algorithms silo us—and what we know about issues, people, politics, whatever.

So in the days after Kirk’s death, I began to read more, watch more, learn more about this man so many idolized—as I do when I realize how one-sided I’ve become on anything. And indeed, I did see him saying some nice stuff about Christianity—the faith I proclaim. I also saw him say plenty of inaccurate stuff about the Bible, about our faith, about the treatment of Christians, in his apologetics. But, we all get stuff wrong. And, good for him, I guess, spreading the faith and helping people “get into heaven.”

But as I saw more and more of his racist, misogynist, homophobic, anti-immigrant comments in context, I began to wonder about the cost—not of following Jesus. But of following Charlie.

American Evangelicalism (a tradition I was adjacently raised in and have long worked in!) has made “getting to heaven” its highest priority for as long as I’ve known it. Well, I suppose it’s been tied with “fighting” for the unborn and “traditional marriage.” But officially, most Evangelicals claim—I think—the whole point of believing in Jesus is to be forgiven and get to heaven. That’s why Jesus was born, why he lived, why he ministered, why he died, and why he rose again. So long as we—yes, even wayward, apostate me—accept Jesus into our hearts, we can go to heaven. That’s the deal.

And that is a great deal—and even better news! I believe that! I can’t wait to see Jesus and my dogs! (I’ll let you guess if I switched the order for optics or not…) I can’t wait to see loved ones, to meet historical figures, to ask Jonah about that big fish.

But I don’t believe getting into heaven is the actual point of believing in Jesus. Why? Because Jesus doesn’t say it’s the actual point of believing in Jesus. It’s a point, for sure. But getting us “into” heaven certainly doesn’t seem to be Jesus’s main reason for being born, for living, for healing, for ministering, for dying, for rising again.

The main point—at least as far as I can tell from Jesus—is how we live. Here and now. The best things we can do, according to Jesus? Love God, love others. Love and bless enemies. Seek the lost. Turn cheeks. Make disciples. Heal. Help neighbors. Be peace-filled and merciful. Forgive. Be honest, true, and faithful. Give generously. Pray. Serve God. Trust God. Repent. Be baptized. Take up our crosses and follow Jesus. Watch out for false prophets….

And the reward? Treasures in heaven, yes. But also, the kingdom of heaven. Life abundant. Peace. Hope, Love. Joy. Redemption. Restoration. Christ with us.

Here. Now.

Which brings me back to Charlie Kirk. Sure, he reached young people with a gospel, but his words about others reflected so little of Jesus. In many ways, they ran counter to Christ—as “Christian” Nationalism does. And a gospel disassociated from the life of Jesus, how he lived and what he taught, a gospel that only focuses on his resurrection as a “ticket to heaven” comes at that great cost.

To the gospel. To the Christian witness. And to the believers themselves.

The gospel suffers because it’s hollow. Shallow. Selfish. It’s transactional rather than transformational (gosh, I sound so Evangelical!).

The Christian witness suffers because rather than sharing love and mercy and hope and peace, a this weak gospel highlights fear, mockery, cruelty, exclusion. Rather than a Christianity that embraces like Jesus did, it excludes. Who would want to know this kind of Jesus (except those who already delight in fear, in mockery, cruelty, exclusion and don’t feel like changing)?

And believers suffer because they miss out on so much. I see this in the angry, young “Christian” white men—so eager to make sure they get back what they believe they deserve, what they think has been ripped from them. So eager to make sure others suffer so they can get ahead without having to do the work others do.

And I see this “fruit” in many of the Charlie-Kirk and MAGA disciples who post on my social media and DM me. The depth of their despair, of their anger, of their brokenness is so clear. So heartbreaking.

But this is what happens when we make heaven the end-goal. When we are willing to do anything, promote anything, any words, any cruelty, any false gospels—just to ensure people, especially our kids, come to Christ. Even if it’s a false one.

I’ve never been willing to risk that. I’m a mom of three young adults. Of course, I want them to know Jesus. But not some selfish, greedy, white American “Jesus” who speaks ill of others. And not just for some ticket into heaven.

I want them to know the real Jesus, the brown one, the suffering one, the loving one, the welcoming one, the good one, the challenging one, the confusing one, the one who costs everything to follow. Because that is the Jesus who gave up everything to be born of a virgin, to lay stones—figuratively and literally—to show us how to live, fully, here and now. That is the Jesus who was crucified, died, and buried. Who rose again to conquer death. To conquer sin. To put redemption into this world. So that we know that the worst part of the story is not the end of the story.

And that’s what I want my kids to know. That’s what I want my kids to believe. That’s what I want Charlie Kirk’s followers and all of us to know and to believe.

Because this is where hope lies. For now. For later. For heaven. For earth. And Lord knows, for this mess of a country.

In proclaiming forgiveness of her husband’s killer, it seems Erika Kirk—Charlie’s widow—understands this. I sure hope she does. And I hope as she takes over her husband’s organization, this spirit of grace and mercy shapes it anew—away from a shallow gospel and toward the real, rich one. Away from one that’s about heaven at any cost and toward life abundant. Away from Christian Nationalism and right toward Christ.

As much as I find today’s Republicans troubling—in the way they happily shred the Constitution, trample rights, delight in cruelty, and seek to create a Bigger Big Brother Government than the Left ever dared—I also find them fascinating. The lock- (goose?) stepness. The mind melds. The parroting.

Of course, I’m sure plenty of “Lefties” do this too—grab a talking point and run with it—but I notice when “Righties” do it because they’re often directed at me. And it’s fascinating.

The latest iteration of this has been the accusations of “celebrating” the death of Charlie Kirk.

This accusation first hit my Messenger inbox—from a good Christian woman who occasionally slides into my DMs to tell me I’m doing the devil’s work and that I’m sick and evil and other niceties.

Among them was the accusation that not only had people like me caused the death of Charlie Kirk but, as she said, “I bet you’re celebrating Charlie’s death.”

This was out of nowhere. It seemed odd. Until I saw this sentiment pop up over and over again—on my Facebook page, on other people’s social media feeds, everywhere. Accusations left and right that the Left was cheering this Right man’s death.

Now, of course, some people may be! People are rotten. We are a culture that loves violence. We crave blood. It’s part of who and what this great Christian nation has always been about.

But delighting in death is a weird thing to accuse me of. At least, for those who know me. If you do, you’ll know:

• I became definitively anti-death penalty at sixteen when I watched footage of that crowd cheering Ted Bundy’s execution. Cheering state-sanctioned murder didn’t sit right then, nor does it now.

• I felt bad when I saw Sadaam Hussein’s body swinging, when I heard Bill Clinton and Donald Trump’s partner-in-crime Jeffrey Epstein died, and when bin Laden was shot all those times. Not because the world lost good men—but because I don’t delight in death. I suppose I champion redemption and restoration this side of heaven.

• I think one of saddest stories in the Bible is when Judas dies—either by his own hand or by falling (depending on which Gospel writer you think got it right). Either account breaks my heart. Pretty sure it breaks Jesus’s too.

• I don’t like when a funeral is called a “Celebration of Life.” NO! Grieve, mourn, and wail, people! That’s what the Bible says—and that’s what I think we should do.

So anyway, just as I don’t delight in death for people I am aware of, who did despicable acts—I certainly don’t celebrate those I barely thought about, even if they said despicable things.

In fact, when I first heard the news about Kirk’s death, I had to check which MAGA person he was. I got him confused with that other guy from years ago—that gay Greek one. And a little confused with that Tate terror.

Then I remembered Kirk was recently parodied on South Park. Then I remembered the videos the young people in my life had shown me. The horrible things Kirk had said about women of color, about gay people, about women in college, about DEI programs, and Black pilots. Oh yeah, that guy.

I had no idea he was seen as any kind of champion of the gospel. Honestly, I’d never have guessed that. What I’d seen certainly didn’t strike me as Jesus-y, at least, not as I know Jesus. But in this newfangled MAGA version of Christianity, where Trumplikeness=Christlikeness , I get the comparison.

I had no idea Kirk was married or had kids. But when I found out, I felt sick, heartbroken for them—and for the rest of his family. And because I’m an empath, I really, really felt it. (Sorry, Charlie!)

And then there’s the other side of it all. The side that is personal because although I disagreed with Charlie on just about everything, we shared a zest for the outspoken, for the zinger, for challenging ideas. We shared a love of free speech—something I’ve also suddenly been accused of being against.

Which is so weird.

Because not only am I active in free speech organizations—fighting Republican anti-free-speech book bans, most notably—but in my work as an editor, this is a point of pride. This is what I do.

I think many MAGA sorts would be shocked to see the books I’ve edited, to see the “conservative” positions many of my clients hold—and the ways I’ve helped them sharpen their arguments, solidify their points, make their cases better. How I’ve helped make many conservative books great again!

Had Charlie Kirk come to me with a manuscript and been able to pay my fee and fit my busy schedule, I’d have helped him. When I’ve watched his videos, I’ve see his blind spots, the holes in his arguments. He was great with the surface bull-dozing shutdowns, but not so much with the depth or nuance. I could’ve been his editorial refiner’s fire.

And I would have.

Because no matter how much I disagree with him—and so many speaking out today—no matter how I cringe and bristle at the hateful and unAmerican things that come out of people’s mouths, dang it, I will fight for and defend your right to say it. Again, fee and time allowing, I’ll even edit it. Not to align with my views—but to make yours work better.

And indeed far from celebrating, I grieve—deeply, empathically—for anyone killed while or for practicing this amazing right we have. For now.

May Charlie Kirk rest in peace and rise in redemption.

And may we all live free—and fight the powers trying to strip it from us.

I only learned Flag Day was a thing when the maternity ward nurse walked into my room—21-years ago—and said, “How nice that your daughter was born on Flag Day.”

Huh.

I only learned my daughter’s birthday was also Donald Trump’s birthday when he was first elected. Honestly, one of the only nice things I can say about Trump is that he was born on a good day.

And I only learned that they both shared a birthday with the US Army this year—when the $30+ million dollar military parade was announced.

If someone would’ve told me 21 years ago that all these things would come together this way —that Donald Trump, the twice-elected tyrannical president, would be celebrating the army’s birthday with a Stalin-esque military parade while masked, chicken-**** ICE agents disappeared people off the streets and the US Marines were deployed to stand against US citizens while millions were at risk of losing health coverage and cancer research funds were being obliterated and life-saving vaccines discredited, while court-orders were being ignored, while senators were being tackled for asking a question of a dog-shooting cabinet member, and that “pro-life” people who claim to love Jesus and freedom and this country support all this—well, I’d never have believed you.* 

I would have thought you were stealing stories of my family’s experience in Communist Cuba.

But alas, here we are. 

Not the nation I’d have hoped for while holding my newborn on her first Flag Day. 

And yet, as I’ve watched the list of planned protests grow for this Saturday, as No Kings Day has become a thing, my hope has steadily risen—as has my joy of having these things collide on her twenty-second Flag Day.

After all, what better way to mark your entrance into full adulthood than to see millions protesting the tyranny that currently governs our nation, to see the caring populace take to the streets and demand NO MORE to weak, would-be kings and those who worship him. 

What better way than to be reminded that though there is so much wrong with this country—that racism now defines the Republican Party, that fear and hatred of others drives our policies—there is also so much good.

You can see the good in the people willing to risk their safety and freedom, their well-being and livelihoods (Big MAGA is watching after all) to step out, speak up, and march against tyranny and injustice for the sake of others. 

In a time when we have so much to be ashamed of as Americans, nothing makes me prouder than to see this. 

As I do want to celebrate my amazing daughter well tomorrow on her 21st birthday (Trump has already ruined enough—no need for him to get this too), I’m not sure I’ll make it to a No Kings rally (though I will try). Either way, I will be rallying in spirit—cheering on the fight. 

Lord knows how long we’ll have this right.

I hope and pray that in another 21 years, this season of Big Government, of would-be kings and dictators, of tyranny, of animosity toward immigrants and people of color is all just a wretched memory. I firmly believe in the God who redeems and restores—and who can take this mess, who can touch hearts, who can redeem all this evil for good. 

My belief in a resurrected Jesus tells me that all this hell can be defeated—trumped, you might say—and made new. Better. 

In the meantime, may God have mercy on us all—and keep the ralliers safe and at peace.

And happy birthday to all who celebrate. 

*And if you’d have told me that the denomination my Flag Day baby would be baptized in two months later would one day say we were bound for hell because we affirm gay marriage, well, I’d never have believed that either!