Questions in the Rain as I Vote for McCain

As the digital clock next to my bed rolled to 4:50, the anticipation of the 5 a.m. alarm sounding seemed unwarranted. I was already wide-awake. I declared to my husband, "Okay, it's time". I flicked on the light, beginning the morning ritual of releasing the hounds. As our two dogs stampeded down the hall, I illuminated the path, calling out to the bedrooms on either side to "get up and get dressed, it's time!" The early wake up call was uncharacteristically met with positive responses instead of the typical grunts and groans.

I followed the dogs out into a soft autumn rain glistening in the lights of the street lamp. As I waited on Phoebe and Rex to answer nature's call, I couldn't help but wonder how the next 24 hours would unfold. Though I had no doubts for whom I was about to cast my vote for, I could not stop thinking about the opposite outcome. Would a strong left turn for our country perhaps serve the conservative movement better? Would the experience of socialism first hand dispel the mystique of the utopian society? Would an America gone liberal see for herself what it feels like to be European? Russian? Cuban? Would this crash course of social engineering bring forth a stronger more fierce renaissance of true conservatism? Or would the leftist experiment sink us so low in the muck of big government that the damage of four years would take at least two generations to be undone? The reality is, we are STILL saddled with the albatrosses of Roosevelt's New Deal and the foreign policy/intelligence cancers brought on by a mere one term Carter administration. America stands at a crossroads. And the rain comes down.

Nudges on my leg signaled to feeding time as I continued on with the next station of the morning routine. Dogs devour their kibble as my three daughters sit in our kitchen, dressed in their school uniforms, ready to accompany their parents on this early morning venture. We piled into my minivan plastered on the back with a collage of McCain signs amongst St. Mary's school stickers, soccer team magnets and a shout out to Guitar Works where music lessons take place.

The street was dark, empty and wet as our carload headed to the polling place a few neighborhoods away. "Will we be the first ones there?" asked one of my daughters. Our car seemed to be the only car on the road at this early hour but upon turning the corner and seeing the silhouette of Grace Baptist Church in the foreground, it became clear we were far from the first ones at the polls. Cars lined the neighborhood street stretching for two blocks past either side of the church. We parked on a side street and made our way through the rain-soaked darkness to the slick brick pathway up to the polling place entrance.

An array of election signs flank the walk, abruptly stopping at the legal limit from the polling portal. My husband held the door as the rest of us filed through the raindrops into the church building. Familiar neighborhood faces greeted us. We followed the line down to the end, snaking around into a part of the church hallway I needed not venture before in prior elections. Never had so many people been in line at once in our precinct and certainly not at 5:55 in the morning! The color red worn by the morning vote casters was overwhelming. This fact was not lost on my daughters, my middle girl whispering, "Looks like there are mostly McCain's here." I nodded; knowing just a few miles away the opposite was probably true.

As the polls officially opened, a "Marge in Charge" barked out some nonsensical instructions. Within minutes we had rounded the corner, the sacred voting room within our sights. People obviously were not hemming and hawing over their choices. Though easily 100 folks were ahead of us in line, we were at the front within a 15-minute wait even though only three machines seemed to be activated. I walked to the roll check, my girls flanking me as my I.D. and house address, were verified and checked off. Voting ticket in hand, I waited for a machine to free up. A little man with silver hair led me to the paneled lectern at which my civic duty would commence. My girls looked on as our voting screen came to life. "Where's the lever?" asked my youngest. I explained these are the new voting machines though honestly, I wish the old machines were still used. There was something magical about the curtain drawing closed behind me before I cast my choice. This new fangled system is so void of that tactile sensation of the levers pulled and the voting officially cast upon the swooshing open of the polyester curtain. Progress sometimes robs one of simple joys. With the screen touched noting my candidate preferences, the job was complete from my end (well almost). The girls and I passed my husband next in line as we were all handed our "I voted" stickers. My youngest was hesitant to put hers on, "But I didn't vote, Mom."

"You stood in line, you participated, and that's what counts. Go ahead, put your sticker on." The consensus amongst the Keller girls was that voting is fun. Fun and very important no matter what part of the political spectrum one stands on. With Keller family votes totally cast we made our way out to take on the rest of our day. As we headed down the road to school, light had finally begun to break across the sky. Rain was still falling but a wonderful sight lay ahead of us. There at the stoplight where the road forks going south to Huguenot Road, north to the rest of River Road, a plethora of McCain/Palin signs had sprung up overnight, no doubt the work of tired less McCain workers giving it their all right up to the enth hour. As we continued down the ten-mile stretch of River Road, the McCain signs were out in full force. A confident voice rung out from the back of the minivan, "Look at all of these signs! McCain is going to win for sure!"

"Unfortunately, the rest of the country is not River Road, honey." Not to add to the rain on the McCain parade, but I explained that the days of a unified American ideal is long gone. The attitudes of self-determination, self-responsibility, self-made success that once defined our country have been diluted by the expectation of Government to make our way for us. The idea of government handouts, which in an earlier generation would have been considered a slap in the face, are now clamored for from cradle to grave. Big Government is the preferred alter of worship for a clear half of all Americans today. God requires prayer and contemplation regarding our free will. Big Government relieves us of the burden of free will while asking nothing of its parishioners but a needy, limp wristed pulse with a willing hand outstretched to catch the stale crumbs the Government gleefully offers.

The drive is punctuated by another question, "How could anyone vote for a person who thinks abortion is okay?" this question emanating from the mind of yet another brainwashed Catholic kid. Though I've broached this query before, my justifications never add up. This morning was no different. I painted a picture of a woman who aborts her baby because she honestly believes the baby would be miserable because it is not wanted. The woman who aborts her baby believes she is doing the best for that unwanted child by denying it a life of being unwanted. "But there are people who would want that baby, aren't there?"

"Yes, but maybe the woman is a girl whose parents would never understand. A girl in that position may think she has no where to turn." That explanation brought on silence for a short time as this scenario played out in the minds sitting in the back seat.

"Why would parents not want their own grandchild?" That question I could not answer. I had come from a family that had made it clear to me growing up that all of my choices had consequences I had to be willing to face. My mother made sure I understood any child that resulted from my actions would be a child of our entire family worthy of all of the love we could offer. I couldn't help but think of my own mother who is the result of a teenage pregnancy. If my grandmother had found herself living in today's atmosphere, she may well have made a different choice. She may well have aborted my own mother, ending the possibility of my life, my brother's, his children, my children. The effects of such a decision are exponential. I look back at the bright-eyed faces in my rearview mirror. The thought of them not existing cause a quick shake of my head.

As we pull into school, this heavy conversation pauses, to be continued in another hour probably on another day. Kisses and wishes follow my three out of the car as they race through the raindrops into St. Mary's School. The automatic side door closes and locks. I drive my route back home in silence, thoughts taking shape of the different scenarios that lie ahead in the coming hours, weeks, years. I've done all I can for now. I voted. I logged my preference in the direction of our country, which is my duty as an American citizen. Now all I can do is go about my day and wait for the ultimate results. No, there is one more thing I can do. I can pray. I can pray that the election is fair, that the decision is clear, that God's will, even if it is not my will or your will, is one that we all can ultimately see the rationale of and go forward to a better, stronger, life-loving country. God Bless America.