A Vote for Freedom

       
                                     I voted this morning.  In Ohio. 

            A friend of mine from another state commented to me recently that my vote ‘really counted’ because of where I lived.  Believe me, we have been surrounded by political rhetoric here unlike anywhere else I have ever lived.  From multiple daily phone calls to mailings, countless yard signs and near weekly rallies with presidential candidates in attendance, there is an energy and intensity here about this election that is palpable.  We feel the pressure.

            But while the electoral count hinges greatly on swing states such as Ohio, I disagree with my friend that her vote somehow doesn’t count as much as mine.

            I am not vocally political, but I am deeply patriotic.   There are no candidate signs in my yard, but I proudly fly my flag.  My ancestors have rarely run for civic office, but I have a deep family history of military service, to include my own husband.  I love this country.  I voted today to combine my voice with those of millions to choose my leader.  But I will not post who I voted for online.  I will not share my political opinions widely, nor loudly.  Not because I do not care about who is elected, but because I care more about preserving the freedom to choose.

            I vividly remember my first experience with communist government.  I was traveling with a musical performing group as a young college student.  We arrived at the airport in northern Vietnam to armed guards, opening and searching our luggage.  Books and personal items were confiscated – deemed inappropriate to even bring into the country.  We were instructed about what we were and were not allowed to talk about with citizens, audience members and students with whom we would associate.  The feeling in that setting was instantly suffocating to me.   My time there was full of fear and trepidation.  I worried constantly about what I was saying and whom I was speaking with.  While I dutifully respected the wishes of the country, I began to understand the value of the freedoms I had enjoyed every day of my American life. 

            I recently read Barbara Demick’s “Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea”.  (Spiegel & Grau, 2010)  It is a stunning account of six North Korean citizens over fifteen years, documenting systematic governmental control, neglect and ultimately starvation of their people.  Cut off from what we would consider the very basics of modern civilization, to include electricity and access to food, people grew disillusioned with their tyrannical rule and risked life and family to escape their country.  Consistently told their sacrifice was for the greater good of the country, many simply wasted away under terrifying sovereign authority. 

            In the historically based account of 1980s India, author Shilpi Somaya Gowda recounts rampant infanticide, culturally forced abortions, and abandonment of countless girls.  Her novel “Secret Daughter” brings to light the accepted cultural notion that male heirs are superior offspring due to ancient dowry practices.  (William Morrow Paperbacks, 2011) In poverty stricken areas, girls and women are now being sold or kidnapped into brothels for prostitution, pornography and sex trafficking.  According to New York Times reporter Nicholas Kristof, of the more than 10 million children prostituted around the world – more are in India than in any other country.  (“The 21^st Century Slave Trade”, New York Times, April 22, 2007.)

            So as I stood peacefully in line this morning with my neighbors, awaiting the opportunity to cast my vote, my thoughts traveled around the globe.  I thought of the book I read before going to bed last night, being able to select my choice from a countless number of varying voices in my library.  I thought of the breakfast I had eaten before driving to my polling station – how I had been able to simply go to the grocery store and choose amongst thousands of options of nutritious foods.  I thought of my beautiful daughter, who I dropped off at a public high school minutes before voting, knowing she would be safe and given equal opportunity to learn there. 

            No matter who wins today, every vote is important.  Every simple ‘X’ marked in a polling station in every state in this country is significant.  It is a tangible, visible reminder of freedom - freedom in action, freedom to choose.  We choose a leader who will be free of tyranny.  We choose a leader who will allow us to continue to decide what we read and what we will say.  We choose a leader who will ensure public access to basic necessities of life.  We choose a leader who values women and recognizes our worth and contributions to society.  We cannot make a wrong choice in this regard.

We have the freedom to choose and with each and every vote today, we choose freedom.

Ceilings

It all started with ceilings.

Some of our very good friends were suddenly without one.  After rebuilding their lives from a lost business and having to sell their dream home to buy and renovate a fixer upper, they had one last big project to finish.  The roof.  They had spent the day tearing off old shingles to prepare for the next day's re-roofing, when it hit.  Out of nowhere a terrible storm with 80 mph winds blew in.  They scrambled to cover the exposed roof with tarps before the clouds tore open with fury, but did not make it.  Through the evening and all night long they listened to the pouring rain, watching it seep through the tarps, into the insulation, through the light fixtures and down the walls.  Their beautifully renovated walls, paint and flooring were seeping with moisture.  They mopped puddles, caught what they could with buckets, but it was not enough.  They watched as their ceilings, now heaving under the weight of saturated insulation, began to bow.  All they could see was two years of work being washed away in one disastrous night.

We heard about it in the morning.  Sending out a clarion call for help through the powers of modern technology, friends and neighbors arrived to do what we could.  We started cutting into ceilings, catching hundreds of pounds of soggy insulation and crumbling sheetrock in the process.  We tried to help them find their way out of their disaster.

Hours later, half their home was without ceilings.  You could look through the roof rafters and see the sky, now bright and clear, beaming into their home.

I laid in bed that night, staring at my ceiling.  I thought about the insulation above me, the dry, sturdy roof over my head and the pristine sheetrock staring back at me.  Had I ever thought before that moment to be thankful for my ceiling?

It was as if life were beckoning me to see, to notice, to appreciate for the first time the blessings all around me.  And above me.

I've often said that writing is like breathing for me.  I simply must do it - to connect with my thoughts and understand the world around me.

Suddenly, writing has also become seeing for me.  Taking the opportunity to notice, and record, moments of gratitude has begun to change the way I look at the world.  It has altered what I appreciate and helped me see life in a new light.

After all, I have a ceiling.

What Moms Really Want

It's that time of year again, when everyone is scrambling to find the perfect card, flowers, and gift for Mom.  I always appreciate the sentiment and know that if my family didn't offer the obligatory tokens and handmade items from school, I would be disappointed that somehow I was forgotten.  But it really is much simpler than all of that.  Here is what I really want for Mother's Day -

An offer for a foot rub after a busy on my feet.

The smudgy fingerprints on the back door wiped clean.

To get home from a busy Tuesday afternoon to find someone noticed that it's getting late and has started dinner.

A bouquet of flowers, on a rainy Wednesday, for no reason at all.

A simple gift, seen at a store, that someone simply had to buy because it reminded them of me.  

A card in the mail, on a Thursday, with the sentence, "I love you because..."

The sneakers on the stairs to be noticed, picked up and put away where they belong.

Someone to open the fridge, fully stocked, and thank me for going to the store every week to buy nutritious food to eat so they don't go hungry.

Someone to say, sincerely, "Wow, you did my laundry again?!  Thanks - these socks look awesome."

I think most Moms do what we do, day and in and day out, simply because we love our families.  We gave life to these incredible human beings that we feel honored to raise and watch grow into adulthood.  We simply want our work to be noticed.  We want our sacrifices to be honored by those we willingly sacrifice so much for.  We want to be held in treasured remembrance for the simple things we do each day to show our love.

That's what we really want for Mother's Day.