People have asked why I stopped posting in A Cup of Tea with Momma G.  I had always wanted my blog to in some way, make people’s lives a little better.  Maybe stories of my life would bring a smile, or a tear, or in some way, bind the reader and me together by that thread we call humanity.  As the world (particularly the political climate) changed, it became harder and harder to find warm stories to share.  I didn’t want my writing to reflect my dour mood. There were no thoughts that I felt were worthy to share.  Like a vague remnants of a song I used to know, I tried in vain to hear that voice that put words to my heart.  But the words didn’t come.  The song was silenced. 

This afternoon, for the first time in years, I heard my voice again. It is a different song, perhaps a bit jaded, perhaps a bit sad, but the words are from the heart.  I hope you are moved.

When I was a teenager, I had a part time job at a men’s clothing store.  I loved my work.  I rang sales on the register, chose what music should play on the 8 track player, folded argyle socks and  suggested which ties went with what bell sleeved dress shirts.  Workers from other mall stores stopped in to say hello.  Coworkers, most of whom were also teenagers, casually chatted between customers. It was fun.  

Until it wasn’t. 

One evening, the assistant manager pulled me aside and told me someone had been stealing from the store.  As he described what was missing, I slowly realized he was accusing me. 

“Hey, I’ve stolen things before,” he conceded.  “Just tell me you did it.  I’ll go easy on you.”

But it wasn’t me.  The only thing I had ever stolen was when at five years old I snuck into a neighbor’s shed and stole a lump of coal. The guilt that ensued convinced me that I was not destined to lead a life of crime.  My mouth turned to dust and my stomach churned. I claimed innocence to the store manager but he didn’t believe me, and even when a few weeks later, he caught another worker sneaking shirts out through the store’s back door, I never felt trusted again.  Several weeks after that, I quit.

I thought of this when watching Shaye Moss  and Ruby Freeman testify at today’s hearing on the January 6 insurrection hearings.  They had served as election officials for years, honor bound to serve their country and their community by counting Presidential Election votes for the State of Georgia.  

In an effort to overturn the 2020 Presidential Election, Shaye and her mother Ruby were falsely accused of rigging the Georgia results.  Videos of the counting disproved Donald Trump’s accusations, but he and Rudy Giuliani insisted that Ms. Moss was a “professional vote scammer” who brought in and counted fraudulent votes for Joe Biden.  As a consequence, Ms. Moss and Ms. Freeman were terrorized; their lives threatened and their reputations ruined. Listening to Ms. Moss explain how her life has changed brought tears to my eyes.  She rarely leaves her home.  She is fearful of being recognized. She will not return to her job. When Ms. Freeman stated, ” “The president of the United States is supposed to represent every American—not to target one,”  the tears fell.

Several years ago I sat on a Grand Jury.  For those who don’t know how this part of government works, the Grand Jury listens to snapshot presentations and then deliberate and decide if there is enough evidence for an indictment.  At the beginning of our service, it was impressed upon the jury members to consider the evidence carefully, indict if compelled to, but be mindful that once an accusation is made the life of the accused is forever changed, even if found innocent of the charges.  I will never forget that admonishment.

It is unknown where the hearings regarding the January 6, 2021 insurrection will lead us.  It makes my heart ache to hear these testimonies, to see video and watch those directly involved tear up as they recount the days and weeks that lead up to that horrible day.  It sickens me that our culture has become so cruel that it normalizes racist rants, violent acts and death threats, and that so many people considered the evils of the insurrection an act of patriotism. 

But we cannot shake our heads and walk away.  If we are not the catalyst for change, if we do not speak out, if we do not take positive steps to overcome evil, what are we here for?  What life will we leave our children, and our grandchildren?  For me, perhaps this means putting pen to paper. 

I am only one voice, but I have one voice.