Is America a Christian nation?

This is an assertion I have seen from Christians on both sides of the political spectrum today, and I think it’s a question we need to truly examine, since I have heard many people use the claim that we are as reasons why the government should do one thing or another. And as a historian, this statement has always bothered me. But perhaps that’s because I’m not sure what we really mean when we say it.

Let me start by saying I am a Christian, I am very much in favor of Christian ideals and beliefs, I believe in the sacred, and I am in favor of laws that respect and promote that. Let me also say that I believe Christianity has been the greatest influencer of what we now term “Western ideals.” It is because of many centuries of Christendom spreading that we have so many ideas, today, about what is right and wrong–for instance, children and the helpless needing protecting. Ideals that were absolutely foreign to, say, Ancient Rome, where orphans and unwanted babies were left at the city gates to die. (As one example.)

Historically speaking, most European countries were officially “Christian nations,” with a state religion. France was (still technically is) Catholic, as was Belgium and Monaco and Malta. England began that way and then went through its religious upheaval and named the Church of England as its state religion. Denmark and Iceland are both Lutheran. Greece is Orthodox. And so on.

Looking at Great Britain specifically, since that’s the nation the US declared its independence from, it was a big deal that it had a state religion–because that meant the king was the head of that state religion, it’s official “defender of the faith.” It meant that if you did not agree with that state religion, you could be legally persecuted and prosecuted. When the Pilgrims came to America for religious freedom, it wasn’t that long since priests and other Catholics who had refused to convert were literally being hanged for the crime of being Catholic. It was a terrifying era to believe something different from your neighbors…and those neighbors were usually the ones to turn you in. (Let’s also note that things have changed quite a bit across the pond since those days!)

When our Founders declared independence from Great Britain and began to dream up what this new nation “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal” would be like, religion was something they specifically addressed. We sum it up today with the term “religious freedom,” and have adopted the phrase “the separation of Church and State.”

What does it mean though?

In a nutshell, it means that the United States government has no right to tell anyone how to believe, what to believe, or to legislate one doctrine over another. It means, according to Article VI, Clause 3 of the United States Constitution, that “no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States.” Which means you cannot be refused the right to run for office because you are Catholic or Muslim or Baptist or Scientologist or atheist or anything else.

I need to point this out, because I’ve seen some real-life friends sharing posts and memes alleging that there was a 1950s law forbidding Muslims to run for office, which was quietly repealed in the 1990s by Democrats. Let me do a bit of fact-checking for you here and assure you this was never a law–it is blatantly, 100% untrue and it would be 100% unconstitutional. The law quoted is the McCarran-Walter Act of 1952, which dealt with immigration quotas from certain world regions (specifically with quotas on Asian nations). Never was there a mention of those immigrant groups being unable to hold office once naturalized, or for their children to be unable to. So let’s just put that one to bed, since it’s not opinion, it’s fact. 😉

So what does this religious freedom that our founders made law mean for us today?

This, I think, is where we need to have conversation. Especially as the term “Christian Nationalism” has become popular and often misunderstood. Because how could it be a bad thing to love both Christ and your nation, right?

Here’s my historian perspective again on how the United States was very deliberately set up. Let’s go from there. 😉

First, my personal opinion on what makes the setup of the US so great. Our documents explicitly state that we are “endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights.”

This is more than just important. This is HUGE. As of the time of our framing, this was unheard of. It was always, always, always the state which granted rights. By attributing the origins of these rights to the Creator, that means that the State has no right to take them away. That the state cannot declare one person deserving of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and others not deserving of it. It means that in the eyes of God, we are all equal, and the State’s job is to preserve that.

This is, in my opinion, the most Christian stance we can ever take–and that way, America is ABSOLUTELY a Christian nation, because it’s founded on Christian freedom. Because our foundational ideals recognize that we are all made in God’s image, that we should all be treated with dignity and respect and equality. Even those who don’t believe as we do. Christianity did not spread in those early centuries by fighting for it with sword and spear, nor by legislating itself–Christianity spread by showing love no matter what. By believers singing their way onto the floor of the arena before death and offering forgiveness to their persecutors.

In the early years of America, between the Declaration and the Constitution, especially, there were many motions to declare Christianity to be the official religion. And every time, it was rejected. Because already there were so many different “flavors” of Christianity represented…and those different kinds weren’t often in agreement and sometimes questioned each other’s validity. But the freedom to choose which to believe, or whether to believe, was critical to our Founding Fathers…many of whom were Deists. That means that they believed in a Creator, but not a personal God who cared about your life now.

So should we be a Christian nation?

Again, my personal opinion here. I pray we are a nation with many Christians. I am glad we are a nation founded with many Christian ideals built into our laws, because those ideals are what extend to equality to all, even beyond the Church. I absolutely believe we as a nation should live out that Christian freedom, offered freely to all. But I would never want America to declare itself a Christian nation, because when faith and power merge, there is always compromise…and historically, that compromise has always been to faith. I do not want our president to be “the defender of faith” in our land, like the king is in England, because defending one religion means being offensive against another, and that flies in the face of religious freedom.

But my thoughts go a little deeper there. The more I’ve learned about Christianity, the more I realize that it, unlike Judaism, is not meant to be a religion for a nation. Jesus very specifically and carefully broke down those barriers by offering salvation to Gentiles. He spoke not to a nation, but to individuals. He came to offer redemption to sinners and outcasts and those shunned by the Law.

He did not come to establish a new government. He did not take a crown. He did not even take over the Jewish temple. He came to show people how to love God and serve Him and become an heir to His kingdom, which is not an earthly one, but a heavenly one that can exist within any other kingdom, if it first exists in our hearts and souls. He teaches us to be meek, to be radical peacemakers, to choose Him over family, over community, over our own cultural religions, and in the face of our government too.

We’ve all read the verse in Acts about where the term “Christian” originated. What I hadn’t fully understood until recently was that, because Roman citizens were legally obliged to recognize Caesar as divine, to call oneself a Christian in Antioch was to admit to being a dissident, a rebel. Christians were not just saying “I reject your pantheon of Gods” they were saying “I reject the idea that my king is my god.” That was punishable by death. And they embraced that label, even knowing where it could lead.

But once Christianity gained power, that’s when we begin to see Crusades and Inquisitions, wars between different Christian sects even, with believers killing each other because they weren’t worshiping “right.”

Is that what we want Christianity–our Christianity–to be?

I don’t. And that’s why Christian Nationalism has for over a decade sent my “spidey-senses” tingling. Again, this is just me, my opinion, and my own experience.

So what is Christian Nationalism? A concise definition is this: Christian Nationalism is the belief that a nation’s identity, laws, and political power should be explicitly Christian—and that this is God’s will for the state.

That means that the state should enforce Christianity. It means that there could (and many say “should”) be laws prohibiting other religions, or at least denying them certain rights. It means that there is an equivalency between “loving God” and “loving your country.” And particularly in the US today, I’ve seen many, many examples where people claim that America has a special covenant with God that equates America with the Church–that the fall of America would be the End Times, that everything spoken to “the church” in the New Testament is specifically for America.

Now, don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with loving your country. Just as we love our communities, our sports teams, our neighborhoods, our states, our anything-else. But as C. S. Lewis puts it in The Four Loves, we must always remember that every other person in every other country loves his country in the same way, and he isn’t wrong to do so. Christian Nationalism equates patriotism with virtue, saying that it is virtuous to love your particular country above other countries.

But we must remember that love of country has to come below love of God. And we certainly have to remember that when the writers of the New Testament are speaking to the Church, they are speaking to believers all around the world, throughout time. Not just us today in America. We have to remember that countries full of Christians, even Christian nations, have risen and fallen and not brought about the End of Days. God has a plan and special love for America, absolutely–but He also has a plan and special love for Haiti, for Somalia, for Canada, for Greenland, for Belgium, for France, for Venezuela, for Uganda, for…you get the idea. God loves without borders. Christ wiped away the distinctions between nations. We’re told there’s no more Jew or Gentile in Him–those are national barriers, friends. There is no American or Canadian in Him. There is no Somalian or Venezuelan.

This, to me, was a critical reframing. I had to reach a point in my own life where I really did value my citizenship in heaven ABOVE any citizenship on earth. That means that I must choose God’s way above the American way. I must view my brothers and sisters in Christ all around the world as my true brothers and sisters, even above physical neighbors.

There are no national borders in the love of Christ.

So if we are a Christian nation…then aren’t we obliged to recognize that? If we claim to be a Christian nation, doesn’t that mean the nation is held to Christian standards of love and giving and sacrifice and a recognition of equality? And yet those I see claiming the Conservatives, for instance, are defenders of the faith, are the same ones who say it’s not the country’s job to do any of those things. In which case…what does it mean, then? That’s my genuine question. If it’s not a Christian nation’s job to behave like Christians, then what is its job?

Just last week, I saw someone on Facebook claim that immigrants weren’t his neighbors, that only American Christians were. And I was boggled. Because in that “love your neighbor” parable about the Good Samaritan, Jesus deliberately chose the immigrant neighbors that Jews hated as his example of who our neighbor truly is. Samaritans were half-Jew, half-Assyrian, a people literally sent in by the oppressor to take over a land and destroy the Jewish culture by combining it with Assyrian culture.

And Jesus says that the Samaritan who sees a person as a person is one’s true neighbor.

He also says we cannot serve two masters. He’s speaking specifically about money in that conversation, yes. Though the connection between money and power is rather well established, so I don’t think it’s a huge leap to say that we cannot both put God first and power first…which is what any “nationalism” seeks to do.

There are absolutely those who serve their nations from a heart of service. And there are absolutely those who serve their nation in order to put their own will upon the people, to gain power. And I would go a step further and say that anyone who equates a political party with Christianity has also made a mistake, because Christ does not belong to one party any more than He belongs to one nation.

Again, I do NOT think this means that we can’t love our country–of course we can! It doesn’t mean we can’t vote our conscience–of course we should! It doesn’t mean we don’t want to see an awakening–of course we do! And it certainly doesn’t mean that if enough Christians are voting their conscience, we wouldn’t see laws that reflect Christian ideals–of course we would!

But it is my prayer that these reflections would be truly Christian–seeking to promote peace, to promote care of those less fortunate, to guarantee equality, to see the value in every person. Not to be self-serving, self-seeking, power-grabbing, or seek to exclude those who are different out of fear of them.

And yes, this is dangerous. Democracy is dangerous. It has an Achilles heel built into it, which is why the ancients observe that democracy is doomed to devolve into tyranny, and from tyranny into anarchy. And that weakness is this: democracy can die very easily in the ballot box, when people choose to give power to someone (either person or party) who seeks to destroy that very thing that gave it to them.

And this fear is one I’m seeing today on both sides. Some who fear it’s what Trump is doing. Others who fear it’s what “invaders” are doing.

Are we right to fear? And if so, what is the correct response? Is it to double down and give all the power to those who will keep it from the ones we fear most…or is to reinstate a balance of power?

What everyone I’ve talked to lately agrees on is that America is at a tipping point, and disaster looms before us. The sides disagree on whether this danger is from without (Muslim immigrants and drug cartels being the main ones I’ve seen, some people claiming an overlap), or from within (the current administration’s tactics, policies, and refusal to concede the Legislative and Judicial branches their rightful power).

Within this context, I think asking if we’re a Christian nation is important. And more, asking what it would mean to be one. Would it mean imposing Christ on others? Or would it mean granting freedom to all?

Other Hard Topics Posts

As I was having those big conversations a couple weeks ago, the thing that led me to say, “Okay, maybe I need to be the one to foster this, or at least try,” was that many, many, MANY people commented or messaged specifically to thank me for the way I was engaging and hence modeling for others how to engage. Hundreds of people told me that this thing I was doing was unusual…and necessary, and needed.

I don’t have a communication degree. But what I do have is training in classical conversation. The first things we were taught at St. John’s College were “how to ask a question” and “how to talk about the answers with people not like you.” There were ground rules, rules which allowed people from the most diverse backgrounds to engage on a topic without devolving into name-calling or falling into sheer chaos.

And the more I’m out in the world away from St. John’s, the more I realize these things are not taught to everyone. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still learn them. =)

In those social media conversations, I quickly fell into a pattern in my responses, and that pattern served me well. More, it was easily distillable. And also easily picked up on. I noticed others in the comment section very quickly mirroring the pattern, and when they did, hostilities cooled. Conversations stayed rational and heartfelt. There was no bullying in those threads. And something that greatly flattered me was that when I saw things they were posting that day or in the ones to follow, they kept that same approach.

Because it works. It’s not that it’s ground-breaking. It’s just that it was a very simple thing we don’t always think to do.

As I was thinking about the rules of engagement and moderation for the Common Room, writer-me couldn’t resist coming up with some alliteration for the ideas I’d been using. And I think they’re pretty useful guides for any time we find ourselves in a conversation with someone who isn’t 100% like us. (So, you know…most of them.) So here you have them. My 4 Gs of real conversation.

1. Grace

No one is on the same journey. And even when we are, we’re not in the same place on it. I can remember when I didn’t think the way I think now, when I hadn’t had come to conclusions I’ve since come to. Which is to say,  I’ve been wrong about things before.

I bet you have too.

And here’s the thing–that’s okay. Just like we need to offer ourselves grace for not knowing then what we know now, so too do we need to offer grace for wherever other people are. Even when we don’t get how they could not see something. Even when they should know better.

And there’s more to it even than that–we shouldn’t assume bad motives. We shouldn’t assume anything. We don’t know, when someone simply states their opinion as fact, what led them to that. We don’t know the hurts they’ve gone through. And we don’t know what they’re going through right now.

When people send me a huffing note about something I forgot to do and I say, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I was getting a chemo infusion when your email came in, and it slipped my mind,” I am absolutely asking, Will you give me a little grace? And in that situation, they do, because it’s so OBVIOUS, right?

But here’s the thing. The less obvious is no less deserving. We are all desperate for grace. I know I am…and so, I will offer to you what I hope to receive from you. And in every conversation, we should do the same.

Assuming the best about people. When you start there, you’ll naturally avoid a lot of potholes in your conversation.

2. Gratitude

Sharing your heart in a climate of attack takes courage. Even weighing into a conversation with vitriol indicates a passion for a subject. As an author, I deal with complaint mail (I won’t call it “hate mail,” because it isn’t hate, but I certainly have my fair share of people who “felt compelled to write to let you know that I didn’t like your last book”), so I’ve had some practice in how to reply. And it all stems from Dale Carnegie’s advice in How to Win Friends and Influence People. And that is this: thank them.

Thank them for the time they took to write to you or to comment or for showing up to a verbal conversation. Thank them for caring so much that they’d speak. Thank them for being honest and vulnerable. Thank them for hearing you out.

When we thank someone, we are immediately saying, “I recognize that you’re a person, and that you have something to contribute.” Our emotional, knee-jerk reaction to what they say should be irrelevant when it comes to that fact. Thank them–and mean it. Train yourself to take a step back and recognize what’s at stake for the other person. Once in a while, someone’s just a jerk who enjoys making people mad. But most of the time, that’s not what’s driving someone.

And once you thank someone (genuinely), you’ll see an immediate shift. Because when we’re (genuinely) thanked for something, we shift immediately out of offensive mode. We think, Oh, they hear me. They appreciate me. They recognize my heart. And suddenly they’re ready to recognize yours too. 

This is so simple–and so profound. And so incredibly important.

Now, obviously if you’re involved in a long conversation, you’re not going to start every response with “Thank you for sharing that with me.” But it is important to recognize when someone takes a risk in opening up and recognize that. To be trusted with someone’s heart is a precious thing. Don’t squander it.

3. Gentleness

As per my post “A Soft Answer,” it turns out Solomon was onto something (Proverbs 15:1). A soft answer really does turn away wrath. When we set aside defensiveness and the need to win and instead focus on understanding, when we answer anger with gentleness and kindness, tempers come down.

Responding to something with gentleness does not mean you agree with what they said. It does mean you agree that are a beloved child of God, just like you.

Let’s not forget that this is listed as one of the Fruits of the Spirit, and it’s also what Jesus teaches in His radical “turn the other cheek/go the extra mile” teaching.

Do not meet anger with anger. Do not meet force with force. Give kindness and gentleness instead. Quite often, it will change the tenor of the conversation.

And you know what? Even if it doesn’t, it will change the tenor of your own heart. And that matters too.

4. (Common) Ground

Yes, I’m cheating with this “G” by adding a C-word in front of it. Indulge me. 😉 Because this, also, is huge. 

Find the common ground. You have it. I promise. There are no two people on earth without something in common, and if you can find that in a heated conversation, you’re well on your way to making a friend. And I don’t mean interrupt a diatribe with “What’s your favorite color? Maybe we have that in common.” I mean actually look at the things they’re saying and find the common ground. Find something to agree on.

More often than not, we’re all starting from the same core principles. We all want safety and security, we all want dependable and fair laws, we all want good for our children, we all want fair treatment for and from our neighbors. It isn’t the what we disagree on–it’s the how. We disagree on the best way to achieve good things, but that just means you might need to strip away all the “trimmings” and look to the heart of the issue.

“I can absolutely agree that we don’t want rapists and murderers on the street.”

“I think you’re right that federal law enforcement needs to follow the law too.”

“I’m also an advocate for safety for our children.”

And so on. Start there. Acknowledge how they feel and why they feel it. Respect where they are (even if you don’t agree with it). And then explain your own point of view. And if you really want to make it approachable, share it not as the conclusion you’ve come to, but as the place you are through a journey. 

“You know, I used to think that too. And then as I dug deeper, I started to ask these questions. [Share the questions that made you look deeper.] It’s tough, you know? Because I still believe in that core ideal. But I struggle with how to reconcile it with these other things. Which is what led me to this position today.”

You know what usually follows? “Yeah, I get that. I ask those questions to.” Or maybe, “Huh, I’ve never thought of it that way. I’m going to have to ponder that.”

Now, here’s the thing–that line of conversation doesn’t work if you’ve never examined our own ideas or come to where you are. If you’re arguing “that’s the way it is” without nuance, chances are pretty good that you’re never going to convince someone…because they clearly aren’t where you are now, and they can’t just be there. Which means sometimes, you’re just going to have to do that examination there, with them. Ask questions–not bullying ones, not accusatory ones, but genuine ones. “I’ve seriously never considered that before. Can you explain your thoughts to me more? Can we dig a little deeper? The thing that immediately comes to mind is this [state your rebuttal], can you help me reconcile that with your position?”

When we remember our 4 Gs, when we treat our interlocutors with respect and dignity, when we treat them as we want to be treated in the conversation, amazing things happen. We actually learn from each other. We understand the other side better, and hence our own too. We plumb new depths. We build new bridges.

And we make new friends. That right there isn’t nothing. That’s one of the most important “somethings” you can ever expect of a conversation.

I’ve had several people ask, either privately or in a comment on my posts lately, a very kind version of “What are you thinking, crazy lady? You’ve got enough going on, fighting cancer. Why are you deciding to talk politics now??”

And they have a point, LOL. (And no one put it that way, I’m being tongue-and-cheek and funny…)

But also…this, too, is important, and I’d like to explain.

I already talked about the year-long journey I’ve been on, and how a year ago, I was just angry and wanted to hold people accountable. How now, I want to understand and heal. Not to talk politics, but to talk about real issues, hard topics that matter. In that “A Time to Speak” post, there was one thing I didn’t go into on this journey.

October 2025.

If you’ve been following me for long, then you know that in 2024, I battled breast cancer. The fight took me into 2025, when I completed radiation treatments in January and then my “blocker” treatments in May. In July, I had my final reconstruction surgery after my bilateral mastectomy. I thought I was done. I thought I’d won.

Then came October, when a brain MRI for an unrelated pituitary issue revealed a tumor in my brain, in the right cerebellum. I know I’ve talked both here and on social media about how hard it hit, and my journey through that. But there are some things I didn’t get into, largely because they were too painful for my family.

I’m going to talk about them now because they are a big part of this.

In those two weeks between the discovery of the tumor and when we had definitive test results, my doctors were sure–SURE–I was in Stage 4 cancer. They were sure it was in my lymph nodes and all through my body. They were sure that palliative care was going to be my fate. They assured me they could keep the cancer in check and still give me years (probably), but let me try to put words to what was going on in my heart and mind.

In those two weeks, I was staring death in the face. Maybe not an immediate death–but that didn’t make it better. I was asking myself, “What if I only have two years left? Or five? Or even ten? What if I don’t get to see my kids get married? What if I spend those years sick and miserable? What if I can’t write the books God’s laid on my heart? What if this is the thing that kills me, and it happens soon?”

Even thinking these questions now makes me cry, guys. Because it’s no less present, just because the scans are clear. It’s no less a real question for me. And it comes with more questions too.

“What really matters?”

During those two weeks, I’ll be honest. I couldn’t read the news. I just…couldn’t. And it wasn’t because I didn’t care about the events or think they mattered. It was because I couldn’t handle the hatred I saw. Every time I glimpsed something, I just wanted to cry, “Don’t you understand? Don’t you understand that you are wasting time on hatred that could be spent on love? On tearing down instead of building up? Why? Why are you spending your precious minutes and hours and days and weeks and months on this? Don’t you see what a tragic waste that is?”

Because when you realize how finite your life is…you are keenly aware of how you’re spending it.

I’ve always given a lot to my legacy, to what I want to be remembered for. When I talk to authors about time management and marketing, that is in fact one of the things I invite them to consider as one of the guiding factors to how they prioritize their time and what governs their outreach.

I want to be remembered as someone who loves, not someone who hates.

I want to be remembered as someone who builds, not someone who tears down.

I want to be remembered as someone who listens, not someone who shouts.

I want to be remembered as someone who uses stories to speak Christ to hurting hearts, not to profit.

I want to be remembered as someone who focuses on others, not just herself.

And as I faced the very real possibility of a short life before me, I realized something else. It’s not enough to just not do the negatives. I have to actively do the positives. Because love isn’t the absence of hate–it’s something more than that, something that requires me to do, to act, to live it out. Similarly, building isn’t just the lack of tearing down. Listening isn’t just the lack of shouting. Not being greedy doesn’t mean working for Christ. And not focusing solely on me doesn’t mean I’m focusing on you.

It isn’t enough to not do. We have to do as well.

As someone who haaaaaaaates conflict (I literally feel sick to my stomach whenever conflict arises, and sometimes migraines even follow), it’s easy for me to just keep my head down. Simpler. 

But this is only peacekeeping. And Jesus didn’t say the “peacekeepers” were blessed. He said the peacemakers were. 

Making is also an action. This is something I’ve written about before, in a post called “Peace: Keeping or Making?” in which I observe the following:

We’re called to CREATE that soul-deep, “all is well” peace. We’re called to create it with love, with faith, with sacrifice, and with hope. Not with lies, compromises, insults, and division.

The peace of Christ is when you would rather die than deny Him–and rather be killed than kill.
The peace of Christ is when you help those who hurt you.
The peace of Christ is when you love the unlovable.
The peace of Christ is when you welcome the outcast, not cast out the one who has offended you.
The peace of Christ is when you greet an insult with a compliment.
The peace of Christ is when you seek to understand rather than to be understood.
The peace of Christ is when you answer a demand with a gift.

And do you know what happens when we do that? Jesus tells us, right there in the Sermon on the Mount.

We are called sons of God.
Heirs of the Kingdom of God.
Brothers and sisters of Christ.
We are given authority in Heaven and on Earth.
We are made like Him.

Peace, my friends, is something not just to seek, not just to preserve, but to make. It’s an active practice. And it doesn’t rely on pleasing people–it relies 100% on pleasing God by our interactions with them. On remembering that He loves them every bit as much as He loves us. And on treating them like they, too, are a son or daughter of God.

That ought to change everything.

So why am I tackling this now, in a year when I’m getting more chemo infusions (I really want to call these “blocker” treatments too, but the fact is that my team calls them chemo. Not full chemo. But they’re chemo.)? In a year when I’ve been promised I’ll be exhausted? In a year when I already have too much on my plate, given that?

Because this is the time I have. This is the time God stirred my heart to speak. This is the time the world is hurting for these conversations so, so much. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. I don’t know where the world will be in a year, when I’m (hopefully and prayerfully) better again. I don’t know if I have another day or another century left on this earth (how’s that last part for optimism?).

But I have now. And so now is the time I will use for the most important things.

The stories He gives me. The people He gives me. The opportunities He gives me.

I will obey, and I will trust Him to provide where I lack. Maybe nothing will come of it. Maybe it’ll take off and I’ll have to bow out. Maybe it’ll just be me talking into what feels like empty space.

Or maybe it will take a cancer patient doing the work to convict other people to do it too. I don’t know. 

I just know that I don’t want to be remembered as someone who was silent when God asked her to speak. I don’t want my legacy to be burying my head, just like I don’t want it to be shouting at people. I want it to be modeling a better way. Showing my children that we can still engage with people, whether we agree with them or not. We can still love. And we can also exhort–from that place of love. We can seek to learn and pray that others will continue to do the same.

We can do better. But it starts with each of us. And when I stand before God–whether that’s soon or not–I want to be able to say, “I obeyed. I loved. I built. I served.”

Why now? Because I am so keenly aware that we’re never guaranteed “later.” And I don’t want to waste whatever time I have giving anything less than my whole heart to the world.