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How to Figure Out Politics If You’re a Ditzy Blonde – The Post I was Scared to Write

(Note: This is number three in my 3-part travel series chronicling our family trip to Washington, D.C. If you missed out on the previous posts, here’s Day One and Day Two.)

This is the post I wasn’t sure I would have the courage to write. 

(At the entrance to a presidential exhibit at the Smithsonian Museum of American History.)

At no time in my life have I considered myself a deep thinker.

I took government in high school and philosophy in college. I understand the basics of our checks-and-balances structure, and I can be logical. It’s just not my immediate response.

I feel before I think. To some, that seems so empty-headed! Hence, by definition, ditzy. 

So, let’s just get this out here from the get-go. I do consider myself a ditzy blonde, and I also feel like it’s one of my best qualities. I’m really, seriously okay with my ditzy-ness!

I have a built-in propensity to approach life from the way I feel about it. This doesn’t mean I never think, or that I don’t think deeply. It just means that while a thinker is busy sorting through the facts, I’m observing, sorting through my feelings.

We both arrive at a conclusion, but when it comes to my bottom line, I’ve typically gone through the back door to get to it.

Keep reading, thinkers. There’s a logical conclusion to come.

Moving to Austin has been a big stretch for me, though. This is a city of deep thinkers if there ever was one. With the University of Texas in our back door, intellectuals abound, and I have learned that it takes a while for a thinker to warm up to a feeler. I grew up in the panhandle where we got to know each other quickly, feelings and all. It’s not so much that way here.

Star-Spangled Banner

Photo credit – Encyclopedia Smithsonian

(This flag, which is the very one that inspired Francis Scott Key to write The Star-Spangled Banner, is on display at the National Museum of American History.)

But today, I’m just going to lay it out. This is how I feel. 

I do not want our President to fail.

And although I didn’t vote for the previous President, I didn’t want him to fail, either. That’s just mean.

There, I said it.

On any given day here in Austin, I could easily join the throngs of those who – I really hate this word – those who hate the President. But, here’s the thing. I’ve never hated a President before, and I don’t want to start now.

Here’s why.

It would be so wrong of me to lead my granddaughter to memorize the 26th verse of our 66 Faith-filled Verses series and, in my heart, have anyone’s failure in mind. I may not like someone very much (as in AT ALL). I may even have strong factual reasons for not liking that person (like years of ’em). But to wish failure upon him? To speak it over everything he says and and every decision he makes? To be glad for his demise?

That’s not at all in the heart of the God I worship. 

(The WWII Memorial is a solemn and beautiful place at night.)

The God who created us and the entire universe around us feels very strongly about something enough to declare it. Did you catch that?

No doubt he has good reason for it. For sure and for certain, he’s thought it through. But, make no mistake – this is how God feels.

So, that’s how I figure out politics.

I vote from my heartfelt discernment and then pray for whoever winds up sitting in the official chair. After all is said and done, that’s all I really could have done, right? It just seems logical. And if I were not happy with the outcome, if I hoped to one day cheer at that person’s collapse, what kind of person would I be? I would be just as wicked as the wicked person I wanted to fail!

This political climate has definitely caused me to think about how I feel. I’ve gone through the windows, walked around the house, knocked on the front door, and eventually gone through the back one to understand why I feel the way I do.

(Free-flowing cool air comes up through this grate in the floor of the Capitol Building. It’s an engineering marvel!)

When my granddaughter and I finished memorizing verse 25, and I looked ahead to see which one was next, this revisited scripture jumped right off the page afresh. That’s it, I thought. That’s why I feel the way I do.

If God doesn’t take pleasure  in the death of even the most wicked, then I want to help Kynzie see (by my example) that campaigning for someone’s failure in their marriage, job, parenting, or public office is, at best, comparable, and at worst, synonymous. Either way, I just don’t want to go there, and I sure don’t want her to see me doing it.

It’s taken a lot of courage for me to write this post. I like to be liked! Some of you might not like me anymore!

But how do you spend three days in the nation’s capital and not feel the overwhelm of the President’s task? How do you not want him to have whatever it takes to succeed while he’s there?

As we stood together outside the White House, I asked each of my family, “Would you want to be president?” They all swiftly declined. Some of their responses were based on feeling, and some on fact. “I don’t want to be hated by so many people,” one said. “I wouldn’t want to be followed everywhere, 24/7.” “I wouldn’t want all that responsibility, day in and day out.”

After thinking this one completely through, here’s how I feel about it.

Me either.

However, if this guy changes his mind, he’ll have my vote and everyone better be nice to him.


Encouraging intentional adventure that pales in comparison to intentional humility,

PS: I love you all! 


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