Good morning. It’s July 15th, and I can hardly believe how quickly this summer is slipping by. Here in Oklahoma, the days are growing hotter and the nights just as sweltering.
We just got back from New York City late Sunday night, after a chaotic day of delayed flights and travel headaches. By the time we got home, we were completely exhausted — so Monday was a slow day, just a few small errands and a much-needed rest. I checked my steps from last week: over 90,000 steps! We walked everywhere in the city, taking in two incredible shows: “Operation Mincemeat” and “Sunset Boulevard.” Both were powerful in their own ways, a testament to the vitality of New York City.
A Return from the City — and Back to Myself
Now, I find myself settling back into my normal routine and facing a heavy, troubling question: How do we live a life that is both active in proclaiming justice and freedom, yet remain kind and resist being swallowed by hatred?
Confronting the Anger Within
I’ve been wrestling deeply with the anger I feel when I read about mass deportations and the rounding up of people without due process — many forced into overcrowded, harsh camps that resemble the concentration camps of the past. Seeing heavily armed officers, often masked to avoid identification, raiding restaurants and roofing sites, calling hardworking people “illegals” or “criminals” — it fills me with rage.
I see people on social media shouting and cursing these officers, and while I don’t join in publicly, I have to confess that, deep down, I feel a certain grim satisfaction in seeing them called out so harshly. And yet, I know this does nothing to advance us as human beings.
I struggle to see the humanity in those who so eagerly persecute others — they remind me of the worst parts of our history. It’s so easy to label them as villains and wish them harm. But I know that allowing hatred to take root in me, even if I think it’s righteous, ultimately diminishes my own humanity.
The Possum on the Sidewalk
Earlier today, as if to interrupt my spiraling thoughts, I saw a baby possum walking down the sidewalk. It bared its teeth at me as I passed by, just as I too seem to bare my teeth at the world in anger. That little creature reminded me how much we’re all just trying to move through the world in our own vulnerable way.
The Temptation of Hatred
It’s painful to watch so many people embrace bigotry and hatred, to see them cheer for policies and actions that harm others, especially when these people live alongside me — neighbors, acquaintances, community members. Living in Oklahoma, where perhaps 70% of folks support these harsh measures, means that most people I encounter fall somewhere on the spectrum of this hostility. Sometimes I want to be rude to them, to lash out. But I also don’t know what to say, how to reach them, or how to be an effective advocate for justice.
I keep coming back to the question: is my hatred more righteous than theirs? Hate is hate. Whether it’s large or small, whether it seems justified or not, it has the same corrosive effect on the soul. Like a tiny cancer cell that eventually spreads and consumes the body, hatred — even in small doses — destroys us from the inside.
Remembering the Lessons of Nonviolence
I think of Dr. King and Gandhi. They taught us that hatred cannot drive out hatred; only love can do that. They showed us that we must resist injustice, but not give in to the narcotic of hate. We must speak out, protest, engage in nonviolent resistance — but always hold onto our humanity and compassion.
I know I need to learn how to be an effective advocate, and I’m committing myself to that journey. I need to research, reflect, and find meaningful ways to act. I believe it’s important to call out cruelty, to name names, and to let those in power know we stand in opposition. Better to be known as someone who stood against cruelty than to stay silent and complicit.
Holding Space for Hope
In the end, I don’t run the world. Bigotry and cruelty existed long before me and will likely persist long after. But that doesn’t absolve me from the responsibility of speaking up, of standing for justice and peace.
It’s a painful time for our country, and for me personally. But as I continue to wrestle with these feelings — the anger, the despair, the desire for justice — I remind myself daily: I must not let hatred define me.
That’s all my heart can hold today. Tomorrow, I’ll try again.
— David
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