This Raging War of Opinion

Coffee helped get me out the door in a timely fashion this morning. Dressed in a white shirt and ruffled peach skirt, I drove across town to speak at a women’s luncheon. 

Arriving early at the posh country club, I piled my books, CD’s, speaker, mic and cords onto a convertible hand truck, and pulled the entire load to the entrance. Upon entering the dining room, however, I realized something was off. A quick phone call confirmed my fears. 

I was at the wrong location. 

Choosing calm, I opened the navigation device on my phone and started the twenty-minute drive to the right place. When I entered with my wagon piled high, I watched as the chairman of the group called everyone to order—indicating I was very late.

Thinking I had another thirty minutes before the gig started, I hadn't panicked. But as I stood on the side and waited for the announcements to finish, I fought against a growing angst.

A few prayers later, I settled down, set up my equipment, and stealthily absconded with the last piece of Oreo cheesecake at the end of the buffet line. The rich, forbidden, sugar-laden morsels carried me high to the place of tranquility where the morning mishap finally mattered little. 

I’ve spoken at Stonecroft women’s functions all over the state of Georgia this year. The groups vary in size and character just like their locations. Sometimes I sell a few books. Sometimes I don’t. Regardless, every time I get to share my story of hope, I walk away stronger. 

A heavy fatigue has kept me close to my bed lately, so just getting up and dressed and out the door felt like an achievement. Staying calm when I arrived late felt like another. But getting through my speech and singing my three songs—even when my legs got wobbly and my eyes a bit cross-eyed—made my day.

The room was configured it such a way that a partial wall divided our area from another. As I set up and hid my wheeled device behind that wall, I caught a glimpse of the news on a large screened TV. 

So, not long before I spoke, I learned about the shooting in Washington, D.C., where members of congress were shot while playing baseball. The stunning attack on democracy saddened many in the room, especially knowing it stems from the political war of opinions that rages in our country. 

Gone are the days of civility and comradeship. The crassness once found only on reality TV has spilled over into acceptable forms of interplay. Divided by insensitive and even vulgar expressions of thought, emotions spill over into a hatred that leads to violence.

What are we to do? 

Love one another with the love that’s only possible when our lives are given over to Him. 

It's not the kind of love we can conjure up ourselves. It's a transformative love. A love that carries us above our own opinions and desires and draws us together as one, despite our many differences.  

We're not capable of it on our own. At least I'm not.  

Which is why I feel stronger every time I share my story of how God's love changed me in ways I didn't even know to ask. I need to remember the life-giving touch that brought hope in my deepest sorrow and life in the face of death. Perhaps now more than ever. 

Times have changed. Things aren’t like they used to be. Not even close. 

But the love of God is as unchanging as the air that fills our lungs and the sun that warms our days. Human beings come and go. They live and die. But the One true God of heaven remains. 

And that's one opinion I'll share until I can breathe no more. 

All photos courtesy of pixabay.com