I’ve prayed and I’ve
prayed. I’ve worried countless hours. In the morning I’ll cast my ballot and,
after that, will have done all I can do. After four years of horror it seems
unbelievable that things should come to a head in less than a day, but here we
are.
Across the country businesses are boarding up, people are sealing themselves behind locked doors, and individuals are stockpiling weapons and food. It is difficult to envision any scenario wherein Trump’s backers are not moved to violence, whether of the exuberant or the enraged kind, but should he lose—and please, merciful God, let him lose—then both he and they will be incalculably worse. And then there are those, nominally on our side, who are all too eager to torch and destroy should the vile man remain in office. I hope each and every one who would pillage takes the time to vote instead.
It feels like the entire future hangs on the precipice and yet all roads lead to catastrophe anyway. I don’t know how we got to this point. I just hope we can get past it.
