I guess I'm not like you.

How do I pour out my heart without breaking yours?
How do I tell you I feel betrayed without offending you?
Will you even hear me? Is it worth me telling? Will any good come of it?

Many of you know I have taken the results of the election pretty hard. I'm a passionate person. I feel deeply as I know many of you do. I want you to know that I love you. I also want you to know that I don't feel safe with you anymore and the reasons why.

I've been wearing a scarf over my head since the weekend after the election. When hate speech and racial attacks bubble up from the hearts of some of the voters claiming victory, I grieve. When protesters vandalize because their own anger overflows, I grieve. When the response I hear over and over to my own pleas to hear my grief is itself full of the boastful pride of winning, I grieve.

As my headscarf symbolizes mourning, it also doubles as my personal visible sign to you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, the visible Church of our Lord Jesus, whom I deeply love; I don't want to be associated with your overwhelming voice in the election.

I never felt like I had to choose between the "lesser of two evils." I don't understand why you did. Perhaps you cared more about winning than I did. I didn't think the Christian life was about winning. I thought is was about being kind and merciful to others. I thought it was about caring for the poor and defending the weak. I thought it was about goodness, not greatness.

Maybe you cared more about saving the babies than I did. Maybe you think the Christian way to save babies is to make a law and force life. I thought the Christian way was welcoming life with joy and providing a safe and loving environment for life to be received. I thought saving babies is done by having deep love relationships with each other-so that when unwelcomed pregnancies happen, the mother and child would be supported emotionally and physically by each other-so that the growing child would not feel the stress of the mother, the judgment, the shame. I thought the Christian way was loving people, not lording over them.

I guess I'm not like you.

I heard you. You didn't care that he cares about winning more than being good. You watched him publicly just as I did. I don't have to remind you. You have wielded your most powerful act as an American and declared: character isn't the deciding factor. You have spoken. You chose winning over decency.

I thought you cared about me.
I thought you would defend me.
I thought you would say, "You are more valuable than rubies."
I thought you would say, "No one should ever be treated like that."

I thought my life mattered.

Perhaps I'm too sensitive.
Perhaps I'm overreacting.
Perhaps I have unresolved childhood issues.
Perhaps the scars of abuse in my own life cloud my perception.

But one thing I know. I love you, but...
I'm not like you.