That’s what Amber and I think election day should be referred to in America. We think they should make it a national holiday, too, with the day off and everything. We determined this as we waited in line to vote this morning, in the “green table” line at Culver City City Hall, where we spent over an hour amidst other civic-minded area residents. The recent rains abated and the sun came out; the line wrapped around the building.
And now it’s two hours later. I took advantage of the the free coffee at Starbucks, ballot stub in hand and “I Voted” sticker proudly afixed to my sweater. I’m home now, typing this; the rain has returned. And we wait, just like we waited four years ago and just like we waited eight years ago. It’s a nervous wait, an anticapatory wait, a “sit on the hands” kind of wait, a “kid on Christmas morning” kind of wait. I’ve surprised myself with the depth of emotion I’ve felt about this election for the past couple of weeks, feeling the weight of the last two years and the opportunity to participate in history. It’s extremely exciting, and I have been caught up.
And yet, I’m reminded that there is still something bigger than elections and presidents and government, than the United States, even. Something that’s survived crumbled empires, slavery, persecutions, political upheaval, death, destruction, holocausts, imprisonments, oppressive regimes, communism, and yes will persist despite whoever is elected into office by the end of today.
So it is with these words that I wait:
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.