Even before Election Day, I was spent and exhausted. Like many of you, carrying worry and stress. Hearing hateful, divisive speech that you think can’t ratchet any higher. Or lower. Sexism and racism and transphobia and xenophobia.

I woke up Wednesday depleted. Dispirited. Dejected. Quite emotional, I preached at the seminary that morning, not feeling in my midsection much good news to proclaim.

When times of hopelessness arise, just like the summer when George Floyd was murdered, or the week when the genocide in Palestine became a prominent news story, I turn to my mentors, my elders, and my ancestors in search of practical wisdom. I turn to God and my community, to express my rage and anger in prayer. To be held in love, and to find a way to cope.