House on the Rock

It was another tight-lipped election day in the land of the free and home of the brave. “I Voted” stickers littered lobbies like confetti while we longed for the day to be over already. We waded through puddles that November rain poured — a metaphor. Representative of our nation, I’m sure.

We’d check our phones long enough to feel an ache in our shoulders, both from the slouch and the slander online, then force a smile and wave at our neighbor who would not be voting like we were this time. The on-and-off drizzle had slowed to a stop; a silence settled as the voter line grew. Assumptions were all too easy to come by: she’s definitely red or I bet he’ll vote blue.

It was just before six when the line reached the street. A woman with a baby stepped up to the end. Only moments after she’d settled in place, the sky broke open with rain once again. The woman cradled her babe a bit tighter; the child cried out as rain soaked her face. But all I could hear from the people around me was I’m going to help out that mom. Hold my place.

Nearly one dozen people whipped out their umbrellas — an instinct so swift it seemed almost rehearsed. I noticed that there was not one single person who asked her who she was voting for first. They stepped toward the mom and the newly-born baby like they were part of a synchronized dance. A posse of people from all different places were not going to let her get soaked — not a chance. We smiled at the swarm that surrounded that lady. The rain eased up and her skin was wiped dry. And just beyond the pre-dawn horizon, the sunrise soon splattered its stain on the sky.

God in His handiwork painted the morning a brilliant array of radiant light. Voters began chatting with those in line near them, like maybe we’d make it through this election all right. Everyone turned and stood to admire the sky bursting forth with its purple-pink hues. And I thought, if the sunrise can let red and blue merge together, maybe — just maybe — we’ll learn how to too.