Saturday afternoon I stood in line four hours in order to cast my absentee ballot. I will be working the polls on Tuesday and therefor had to forgo my usual practice of voting on election day. As the long line slowly snaked its way into the building, it quickly became apparent that a large number of the people surrounding me were voting for “the other guy” as evidenced by their welcoming of the offered stickers with his picture and the enthusiasm for certain campaign volunteers with free pizza. (Ok, so I would’ve taken some too if I’d been hungry.)

Finding my immediate line neighbors not interested in chatting, I spent the hours alone with my own thoughts, accompanied for an interlude of time by my mp3 player, with plenty more time to observe the people and chatter around me.

By the time the open door of the voting room came into view, I was more than a little footsore, and feeling both depressed and frustrated over the worldview of my hundreds of fellow citizens packed in the winding rows. Although my information was surface level at best, I was just a little worried that if this was any indication of the rest of populace, our country might see a very grim day indeed. Didn’t they realize what kind of person they were voting for? Didn’t they care? Didn’t they understand what they were choosing?

Steady chit-chat broke out between me and a few of my line neighbors as the end drew closer. Our discussion turned to one of the issues we’re voting on in Ohio. I didn’t say much other than actively listening and adding casual comments, but it was an amiable and light-hearted conversation that brought some much needed laughter, as well as exposing some obvious differences.

“You’re voting for McCain aren’t you” said the man next to me, more as a statement than a question. I nodded with a bemused smile and twinkle in my eye. “MmmHmm”. No need to ask who his vote was going for. I dug in my purse for gum and we both set to work on a piece of spearmint. (Apparently gum is non-partisan also.)

At last my turn had come; my ballot was handed over and I quickly fulfilled my American mission with a ballpoint pen on the appropriate ovals of choice. Sealed and dropped in the big silver bin, I made a hasty departure home.

I spent the rest of the evening at a special veterans event at a local church. During the start of the program we sang several patriotic numbers, including “My Country ‘ Tis of Thee”. As I sang the words of the last verse, the swirling thoughts of the day came filtering through a different light.

Our father’s God to, Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!

In my frustration of the politically charged afternoon, I had overlooked one very important thing.

Great God, our King.

If I am afraid and worried about one man becoming President, my hope is not in the right place. If I am convinced that one man means disaster and the other escape thereof, my trust is feebly placed. Our freedom, our rights, the gift of life – though upheld by men, are ultimately not given or protected by human hands, but by God’s. He is the one who has allowed freedom’s light to shine so bright from this land.

While concern IS warranted, action our duty, and this election vitally important (with prayer much needed), our security in this life does not remain with the leadership of any one man, but with the God of the Universe.

How thankful I am that His power is not limited or changed by who sits behind that desk in the Oval Office.

Twenty-two is a weird feeling. Like driving a new car that you’re not quite familiar with, it will take some getting used to. I don’t feel as mature as the number suggests. I am sobered with the realization of time gone that I can never get back and a chapter of my life quickly closing. Unlike some of my peers who seem to have a solid grasp on adulthood already, I am still in the process. This has brought some interesting changes to my attention that I can only attribute to that process. It’s the odd sensation of both seeing the world through the eyes of a child and those of an adult.

When I was younger, I used to wonder why grownups were okay with going without food if the circumstances warranted, when all my little tummy could think about was that I HAD to eat as soon as possible lest I starve to a horrible death. These days I get engrossed in a project and lunch slips past, or I find myself rather hungry but quite able to wait until the situation is remedied.

I didn’t understand adults’ fascination with visiting childhood places and telling us the stories of their favorite memories, where they used to go and what they used to do. Sometimes it got a little boring. Now I find myself looking back at my own childhood warmly and treasuring those worn stuffed animal friends and funny little rocks I collected, recounting the days of when my brother and I reveled in creative imagination. I listen more closely when my parents tell their stories; now that I have my own, I understand why they mean so much and what an important part of us they are.

I used to see parents as only that – parents. They were always there and made the world ok and had the answers when you needed them. They made the rules and sometimes didn’t understand what it was like to be their child! In my self-absorption, I failed to realize how my actions and attitudes truly affected them and how deeply they loved me.

Now, I see how much the children around me have to learn and what oblivion they often live in, compared to the realizations of this thought process I find myself with. I see how much one does gain by merit of age and experience, small yet mine may be. As I form my own principles, I am armed with the desire to pass them on to my children yet nonexistent, because I want them to know what is good and right….the very desire my parents had for me.

Now, I see parents as individuals, as people with their own stories and life journeys, of which parenting is just a part of the picture. People who have hopes and dreams, disappointments and challenges. People who faced choices like I do and chose to follow God instead of the culture.

I used to think looks mattered more. Now I know that personality and heart is huge and the more you grow to appreciate and love someone, the more attractive they become to you and those “imperfections” no longer matter through the eyes of love. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” is not such a cliche expression as it seems. Which explains a lot about relationships that I never understood before.

I’ve learned to give myself the freedom to change my ideas and to admit that when it comes right down to it, I don’t know very much after all. (But my parents still do!)

The light is dawning on a new era for me, one that comes as silently as it does loudly. There is so much more that is still unclear, and though sometimes I long to understand, I now realize that only time and God’s mercy can tell you some things.

And it will. It already has.