hope is a group project

an essay about an essay in my instagram stories

I snapped this pic the day I voted.

I liked seeing the sticker here on my NCC sweatshirt.

I’ve been thinking ever since about a title for an essay, “Hope Is a Group Project” but haven’t managed to write it yet.

The summary of the thought is this:

I feel like one reason I need the church is because hope is something we can’t do alone.

And change is something we can’t do alone.

I have never liked group projects. But life is one, apparently.

I know voting and politics bring up lots of feelings.

Even those of us united in Christ and seeking to walk by faith manage to find ourselves with different convictions about where to place our vote in the kingdoms of this world.

So, I know some of you will not agree, but for me, participating in this election is a particularly frustrating and demoralizing group project.

Because I live in a “red state,” the outcome here feels pre-determined. It does not feel like my one vote will make any difference at all.

But I am seeking to live as a person of hope.

And so, I stand in line and cast my vote.

Not for a savior—I already have one—but for a president.

I vote with hope that we might begin to course correct this American group project that has gone terribly awry.

I vote with hope that others will show up too, even if our single votes feel small.

Today’s the last day of early voting in Tennessee. The final deadline is coming up for all of us for this election.

I know many I love and respect will disagree, and that’s okay.

But I voted 💙 with hope in my heart. And I’m sharing today because hope is a group project. And if you feel like I do about what you’d like the result to be on Tuesday, but you feel like it doesn’t matter in the sea of opposing votes around you, please go vote anyway.

Hope is a group project.

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And so, just like that, the essay I’ve been holding in my heart and putting off for a week turned out to be a series of Instagram stories on my personal page. Now that I’ve transcribed it above, I’m giving myself some more space to explore.

I’m not sure what made me even start writing the words.

I wrote it all on my phone, which I don’t love doing. I have trouble typing on a screen, plus my phone keeps giving me that alert that I’m holding it too close to my face the whole time I’m trying to choose my words. I’m far-sighted, and I’m a millennial, so writing of any consequence is definitely big Internet work.

TikTok video, which I saw on Instagram because I don’t have TikTok… Did I mention I’m a millennial?

Stories don’t let you edit them after you post them. All you can do is delete, so you’re stuck with proofreading errors and words you’d like to change.

And for what?

How many followers do I have who will read my Instagram stories in the 24 hours they’re up?

How many of them haven’t already made up their minds and cast their votes?

How many people will decide to stand in line at the ballot box—much less change their mind about how to vote—just because of anything I said?

And even if they did, what impact would any of that even make?

It probably doesn’t amount to a hill of beans, and I know it.

If you know why I put this gif here, you’re my people.

Nevertheless, there I was, pouring out my heart anyway. It felt unstoppable.

And even as this conflict-avoidant, second-guess girl trembled in the wake of the vulnerability of it, I wasn’t tempted to delete it right away or try to take it back. For whatever reason, even though it probably doesn’t change a darn thing, I wanted to write the words, wanted to share them.

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Maybe the words just clarified and crystalized a few things for me, gave a place for the thoughts spinning inside to rest.

Maybe they provided a bit of encouragement to friends who read them and felt seen because they feel the same.

Maybe, just maybe, they gave a moment’s pause to someone reading who might dismiss or condemn those who voted as I did. Maybe someone who disagrees with my vote but cares for me might stop and be curious for a moment about a perspective different from their own.

Who knows?

Whatever the reason, I just felt like I should let my voice be heard, even in a small way.

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The thing is, I know that there’s not much any one of us can do alone.

But a lot of ones of us can. And we never add up to anything without joining in one-by-one.

You know what I mean?

And so that’s the hope I’m praying to keep kindled this election season.

And it’s the hope that warms me when I gather with my church, growing cozier and more familiar with time, just like this already beloved sweatshirt.

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My particular political views, by the way—I wondered later if I should have disclaimed in my post—do not represent the view of my church, which has no official view on the matter.

And, thanks to Facebook, I have learned that we, too, are a sharply divided group when it comes to matters of politics.

But, believe it or not, even that gives me a bit of hope too.

It gives me hope knowing that, even though we don't all see eye-to-eye in our community, we still end up in the same space week after week. Despite the fact that our social media betrays our differences of opinion, we keep showing up, desiring to know and grow in the love of the same God. And that gives me hope.

It’s tempting, of course, to hope that growing closer to God would result in everyone seeing things the way I do. And those who see things the opposite way are probably tempted to think the same thing about me.

But I am trying to hold on to an even greater and even more foolish-sounding hope: I hope we’ll learn to listen to each other. I hope we’ll learn from each other. I hope, regardless of our different views, we’ll seek the Lord and His wisdom together. I hope He will give us soft hearts and His Spirit and renewed minds. I hope He will transform each of us more into His image of love.

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I hope we’ll see the kingdoms of this world—the American government 100% included in that category—as exactly what they are, passing kingdoms.

I hope we’ll be shaped by the glory and light and generosity and grace and mercy and love of the true kingdom of Jesus Christ.

And I hope we’ll work together to “seek the prosperity of the city” and work for the common good of all our neighbors.¹

I hope for us to be motivated not by our own prosperity alone but by prosperity for everyone. I hope for us to be dedicated to the wellbeing of all, to be united in God’s desire for human flourishing, the way He created us to live in the Garden, the way He desires us to flourish still. In His abundance, there is enough to go around.

Jesus sets the table and invites every single one of us. Each and every one of us is made in His image and precious to Him.

We seem to have a hard time believing that, living that out.

It’s easy to fall into acting from our fear, hurt, and desire for control. It’s hard to keep living by faith and in love.

But I believe it’s worth it to keep trying. And I need others to help me keep believing.

So I gather with my friends, with my community, with those who are like me and those who are not, and I ask the Lord to help me keep hoping.

Love is a group project too.

Sometimes it seems
There cannot be peace
In a world so armored up in rage
If I listen now
Lay my weapons down
Then I could lean into your pain

Let me seek to understand before I’m understood
Let me want to hear more than I want to be heard
You are not a threat to me,
You’re family
I need your voice
I need your song
We need true belonging

The table’s long
It goes on and on
There’s room for everybody here
Bring your difference
Come in with confidence
We’re not the same without you here

Let me seek to understand before I’m understood
Let me want to hear more than I want to be heard
You are not a threat to me,
You’re family
I need your voice
I need your song
We need true belonging

This is how they’ll know
This is how they’ll know us
By our love
By our love

1. Jeremiah 29:7