A Dose of Hope
Sometimes I get so sick of this world that I wish God would call me home. Sometimes the fight gets too hard, sometimes it drags on and on, chipping away at my resolve. Sometimes the hole is just too deep to dig your way out of. Sometimes we can’t do it alone. I wonder, when will the support come? When will the troops be rallied. I sit in this foxhole, taking a moment of refuge from the never ending arrows. I am dirty, beaten, and bloody. My resolve is still there but it is weaker, and tears form in my eyes as I realize, I am alone and I will probably stay that way. There is no cavalry, there is no relief.
That is not to take away from the amazing people out there who have given and supported us through this whole fight. There are many, and I wouldn’t have been able to fight as long as I have if it wasn’t for those people. However, that isn’t what I am focusing on here. I am talking about someone to stand next to me on the battlefield. Someone to help draw some fire. Someone to take some of the arrows so that I may recover a bit, or so I am not their only target. I feel like I have taken 50 arrows and yet I keep trudging forward, slowly. Too stupid to just stop, too much grit to just give up. Where have the people been? We have passed 2 years of these men and women being held as political prisoners. How is it that so many were fooled? The evidence was there. I mean I watched it on TV and could see through their lies on that very day. You could see what was happening. Yet here we are 2 years later, and people are finally noticing. What will happen to us when this is over? Will celebrities swoop in and with a few effortless words eclipse the work we have been doing for years? Will politicians who have been complicit in this travesty come out with a statement and erase all of their inaction? Sure, it would be wonderful if it does, but what then happens to us? What happens to me? Will I be realize one day I took the wrong road? That this fight was for nothing? An unwinnable game that has been rigged for decades. Should I just quit? How much more damage can I take? Will I have anything left? If I don’t is that my fault for being willing to stand? Or is it because more should have stood next to me so I wouldn’t lose so much. But they didn’t, and I have.
If the country is restored, will I be a dinosaur left behind to wither away, tucked into the corners of this society that we helped to restore by an ungrateful and unknowing youth. To be ignored, to be pushed aside. Will I have lost everything by then?
Many said they would stand beside me, but few if any did. Because of this we were forced to take the brunt of the attack, and we were left damaged and broken. Yet we remained, raising Old Glory, and marching forward into the attacks convinced that Americans were following behind us. I can’t help but feel now that maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I doomed my family to a broken future, when I could have just been a passive citizen, remained quiet, and continued to kick the can down the road. Or acted like some of these other “freedom fighters” who gave up and switched to something easier when things got too hard. They were summer soldiers, part time patriots. Either way, they abandoned their post. They went AWOL in the middle of a battle and left us to die out there. It is disgraceful and it hurts everyone in the movement to have such weak people involved.
Is America is doomed anyway? Is all we are doing just postponing the final curtain. It feels that way sometimes. It certainly does lately. I could sure use a dose of hope right about now.