Why I am a Republican, Part One

My Grandpa Gallagher was a great man.

He could share down-home wisdom with pipe-clenched teeth better than any politician, and he had the firm handshake and the Irish twinkle to convince you that you could really trust him.

When he and Grandma crossed the Pacific to visit us in the early 1970’s, he and I took an afternoon walk in Tokyo.  We went into a treasure-filled souvenir shop and he purchased a string of dainty cultured pearls just for me.  On the way home, he made more memories and told me he had a bit of advice for me.  I listened, expecting something about working hard (like him) or sterling wisdom on independence.  Instead he said, “Don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.”

It was the perfect balance that he demonstrated in his own life.  I knew him as the man who had built four homes over the years, and dug his own well.  His use of dynamite to clear stumps from his Bellingham home site was legendary, including his requirement that his three kids (my mom and my two uncles) pick up the sticks that resulted from the explosion.  He worked hard as an electrician, and managed to find time to purchase and restore a local home for resale, in his words, “Remove the doorknob, rebuild everything, and then replace the doorknob.”  He trekked north to Alaska to work as an engineer in obscure Prudhoe Bay.

BUT, he’d also take time to walk the dog and travel with Grandma.  They bought motorcycles (and bright orange outfits for safety) and buzzed around the countryside.  Fishing and hunting were for fun and for food. He was deliberate in all he did.  When you were with him, you felt he was giving you his full attention.  When he spoke, it was with confidence and integrity. And after his three kids picked up sticks, they all enjoyed a bonfire and a hotdog roast.

During the Great Depression of the 1930’s he worked for an uncle all summer long.  At the end, in addition to all of the farm-style meals he had enjoyed, his uncle gave him a nickel.  He had mixed feelings about that, but was thankful for the food, as at home it had been oatmeal, and oatmeal, and oatmeal.

As World War Two broke, he wanted to sign on, but the recruiter told the father of two young babies that Bob Gallagher would best serve by sharing his electrical skills in the cause.  So, Grandpa and his young family left Ohio and headed to Bremerton, Washington to help build the ships that went to battle in the Pacific.

The other piece of advice my Grandpa gave me seemed a little strange, “Always be a good Republican.”

As I look at who I have become over the past 30 years of voting, I’d have to say that his example of working hard, planning for the future, giving to others, and maintaining solid moral character through honoring (in his words) “the man upstairs,” have certainly influenced me.  He raised my mother, a virtuous, kind, strong woman, reaching out her hands to the needy, but working tirelessly at her own responsibilities as well.

The Irish immigrants that were my Gallagher ancestors came to a land where there was opportunity, but in the form of hard work and social obstacles.  Responsibility ruled strongly in Grandpa’s heart. He loved to quote my brother Ralph, who as a little tyke had said, “I do it myself.”

The other wise words I remember Grandpa shared regarded the stock market, “Only invest what you can afford to lose.”

He was an admirable blend of fiscal caution, wise investment, and generosity. Today, my 93-year-old Grandma is well provided for, and Grandpa’s care with finances has blessed my family, too.  On one visit, my mom asked him to take a look at her ailing washing machine.  He left for “parts” and returned with a beautiful new washer, giving extravagantly, and practically.  He could, because he was responsible and careful. Wisdom and generosity are a beautiful blend.

I want to be remembered as a brave, honest, hardworking woman of faith.  I cannot sit quietly by while my nation descends into lethargy, immorality, and economic decay.  The vote is one way that I can emulate my Grandpa and labor towards leaving a worthy heritage for my children and grandchildren.  Even more importantly, I can set the example of working hard without complaining, of reaching out to others, and of honoring God.

I’ve heard it said that God is not a Republican.  Perhaps so, but I know He is not a Democrat.

Taking it on the Chin?

“Woe to you when all men speak well of you, for that is how their fathers treated the false prophets.  But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic.” -Luke 6:26-29

I find that I have “split personalities.”  One loves the limelight and relishes praise.  The eager kitten could not lap it up more than I.  The other side of me grips truth and will not let it go.  These two ladies have a problem; they are at odds with one another.  Who will win? Is it a contest?

My mother is fond of quoting Luke 6:25a to me, “Woe to you when all men speak well of you…”  Woe? Whoa? I no likey. Jesus seemed to have an opinion about being in the position where everyone appears to be filled with adulation over you, lining up around the building to have a chance to get their picture taken with you, so to speak.

The revulsion to criticism lurks in me, ready to strangle my best intentions.  I find the need to fortify myself against this desire to always “be liked.” It has to be abandoned if my life is to have a deeply meaningful impact.

To quote the beloved Tevye, “On the other hand…” I have a feisty German-Irish-Finn living inside.  She is the descendent of Ohioan homesteaders (back when it was “Indian” country.) She is the great-grand daughter of an illegal immigrant, one who jumped ship and became a Finnish-American farmer. She is the descendant of a German who fought alongside George Washington’s troops. She is the relative of a Gallagher who crashed in the Pacific on his way back to his carrier during World War II. She is the daughter of two people who weren’t afraid to invest their life in sharing their faith, even when it meant the cupboard had only cornmeal in it. Of course, this doesn’t make me a hero through genetics, but what an impact these examples have had.  What a standard they set.

So, now I find myself in a “brave new world” where eating a chicken sandwich has become a political issue, where the church is filling with people that disregard God’s ‘point-of-view’ on stylish sexuality, and some “church kids” still aren’t sure where they stand on the murder of the unborn.  Closer to home, friends may misinterpret my efforts to make changes in my community that will affect my children, calling me someone with knee-jerk paranoia, seeking to spread fear and dissension. Ouch. It hurts to be misunderstood.

What’s a conservative, whole-hearted Christian to do? Well, I’ve decided that posting mean Obama cartoons on Facebook probably isn’t the most effective plan (although some of them are quite clever.) I would’ve chowed on Chick-Fil-A, if Portland/Vancouver had one. But they don’t. I can paste on bumperstickers and wear controversial t-shirts.  Hmmm. Not that I haven’t. I really believe these have minimal effect.

More difficult is the rest of Luke 6:26-29.  It tells me that the false prophets were lauded, and implies that if I want everyone to speak well of me, I’ll have to join those ranks; the ear ticklers, so to speak. Well, that stinks.  I don’t really want to go there….

Yet, Jesus doesn’t leave me hanging.  He says, “But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic.”

How practical is that?!  Jesus is a hands-on, strong shepherd. So let’s take a look at what He’s saying, remembering that He was soon to be the crucified son of God. (Even in His perfection, He couldn’t please the masses.)

First off, He addresses those of us who will hear Him.  Am I so engrossed in my own agenda that I can’t hear Him?  The Holy Spirit is gentle, and if I’m enthralled with my own passionate causes, I need to continually check in and see if this is God’s call.  Am I based in scripture?  Am I prayerful? Am I listening?

Love your enemies.  Now, an enemy isn’t just someone “out to get me.”  But the definitions I find vary. Here are a few:

-One who feels hatred toward, intends injury to, or opposes the interests of another; a foe.

-A person who is actively opposed or hostile to someone or something.

-One that is antagonistic to another; especially : one seeking to injure, overthrow, or confound an opponent.

Then an enemy may even be defined as someone who is opposing me or wants to “confound” what I am up to.

So, how to love those who oppose me?  Oh so many ways, but apparently best when led by godly wisdom and the nudging of the Holy Spirit. Otherwise I will run around in circles as a “do-gooder,” and miss God’s personal plan for ME.  So, it might be having a yard sale for a pro-life clinic, or helping at a food ministry, or speaking up in a kind, intelligent manner, or being quiet when someone lashes out (now that’s a toughie.)  Often it involves forgiving the well-intentioned opposition of someone I count as friend (that’s hard, too.)

Doing good to those who hurt you goes against my natural desire to “plot” a counter attack.  So, it might be saying a kind word, giving a hug, being available to help, or perhaps, in the words of Thumper’s father, “If you can’t say something nice….don’t say nothing at all.”

Bless them….  So, speak blessing into their life.  Affirm what is truly affirmable.  Shut up the verbal rampage. Avoid the witty, mean retort. This is loving. Okay, I hear it.  Continue to work that into my heart and speech, dear Lord.

Then Jesus leads us to our knees.  “Pray for those who mistreat you.”  Wow.  The quiet prayer in the closet, not the talk to everyone else and have a short prayer afterwards. (Guilty.) The deep prayer in my heart, not the eyebrows-raised, lofty, “I’ll be praying for you…” comment, meant to be a stab back. (Ouch.) As I pray for my “enemies,” something miraculous happens.  I’ve seen it in my life.  My heart softens.  I’m more careful about what I say about and to those opposed.  Love replaces irritation.  I may need to keep solid boundaries, but the anxiety and distress diminishes.  This blesses me and those around me.

That whole “other cheek” thing.  Hmm.  I see that as not hitting back.  Not letting people beat you, but finding a safe place in Christ where we are protected from the pettiness of self pity.  If a two-year-old gives me a kick in the shins, I’m not gonna kick back, right?  So if an adult smacks me, I hope I’ll have the maturity to draw healthy boundaries without counter-attacking.

Going the extra mile is a beautiful thing.  It actually gives me a sense of not being used, but having freedom to choose to even do a bit more to bless my enemy.  If someone is assuming, then instead of just getting her coffee, maybe I’ll pay for it and bring her a cookie, too.  Dare I say it? It gives me a sense of control and a freedom from intimidation.  “Yes, I’ll do that, AND this too.”  Confounding the enemy, making their intention ineffective, but accomplishing good in the meantime.

So, it appears kindness and boldness are a fine balance, requiring the unearthly wisdom of a powerful God. Prayerfully evaluate for your own application, as I continue to do the same. Love you.