It’s an interesting time to live in America. Depending on who you ask, it’s either the beginning of the end of a all time great empire, or the re-awakening of a sleeping giant and a return to the things that made it exceptional. Billionaires gobble up media empires and create mini-bubbles of narrative that swaths of the population inherit like mini-Wanda Maximoff. Families at the bottom struggle to make ends meet, the middle hangs on for dear life, and the rich shrug as they scroll in 1000 count sheets under the lazy fans of their sport themed accessory dwelling unit.

The situation seems entrenched, although the status quo is relatively recent. There also seems to be a subtle miasma that hangs over the land, hidden behind the brightly lit screens of our handheld devices. In the twitches of fingers that seem to search for the nearest available screen to scroll, children that sit on benches with phones that show increasingly dangerous, weird, or both, entertainers who try to hold the attention that seems to be harder to grasp than ever.

It’s the distraction more than anything else that robs me of hope.

I dream of a time when America was great. Great in it’s hopes and dreams. Great in its aspirations and willingness to do whatever it took to make them reality.

I was not alive see this hey day, but I read of this time. I’ve read essays from men who don’t look like me, yet mourned the maltreatment of others. I’ve heard speeches from men who were committed to not just the pursuit of another dollar but of legacy. The echoes of these ideas have reached me, stranded on the shores of the first quarter of the 21st century. The intellectually blessed and fortunate industrialists of this era, whine of maltreatment and seek to gather spoils which rot as they tossed to the winds of ego or fear or rage. The political leaders cower in the shadow of bullies or retire to their chambers and send out auto-reply letters to the concerns of those they serve.

I clack away at keyboards and stare out of windows as I dream of breathing deep into my life some deeper meaning.

I worry for my children and grow tired of their yearning and tremble at the disappointments that stalk the paths ahead of them.

Mostly I pray.

For my own weakness, for the weakness of my fellow man, and for a God that will use us in spite of these failings.

By gods grace.

OFO.