I stood, with my family, in a long line to vote last week. We were fortunate enough to overhear a conversation between some young parents behind us. They were trying to explain to their two little girls about the blessings and freedoms that we have in America. I knew I was being nosy but I couldn’t stop eavesdropping. What eventually hit me was the difficulty the parents were having trying to explain these blessings. They attempted to explain how some countries do not have clean water like America. They pointed out that some countries don’t have grocery stores with the same food or snacks every time you go inside of them, either. They talked about places in the world where folks have to walk great distances just to have water to drink. Of course, the little girls stood there with puzzled looks on their faces, probably trying to imagine a world without Chucky Cheese. Who knows, I probably had the same puzzled look on my face, but for different reasons.
We live in place where God is freely and openly spoken about and where His blessings are in such abundant supply that we have difficulty explaining the absence of them to our children.
This went on of for some time. The last topic I heard the parents attempting to explain was about voting. The dad said,
“In America, we all have a say in who our leaders are.”
He explained the blessing of having a voice in America. His message was intended for little ears, but my ears were burning too. After all, he was talking about my voice too.
There I stood with my family, waiting to vote, in a long line of freedom and blessing, my belly full and my heart glad, giving thanks to the God who’s blessings are so abundant they’re hard to explain. Eventually, we made our way through the line and finished our civic duty. It was Gracie’s (my daughter’s)first time to vote, which the clerk made a big “to do” about, yelling it out to the room who cheered her on vigorously. We all had a blast, making the most of it, enjoying family night and acting like goof-balls. But make no mistake, I’m still wrestling with the beauty of my blessings. That young father reminded me of my voice—a free voice. A voice able to disagree with or cheer on the highest court in the land, without fear. America’s voice.
We voted that night and whether others agreed with us or not, my family’s voice was heard—not canceled. We don’t have to live our lives governed by the offenses of others. We have a say in America. And I would not trade that blessed voice for all the social media posts in the world.