This may sound like a political post. But for me, it is really about something bigger: hope, faith, survival, and remembering that ordinary people still have a voice.

I don’t know who needs to hear this.

I understand that this post is political in nature, but ultimately, it is about hope. It is about faith. It is about the power of people and the voice of people.

A blue tsunami took place, something many believed would never happen. Republicans were confident they had it in the bag and would maintain control.

But what I keep coming back to is something bigger than Democrats and Republicans.

People spoke.

Democracy is working.

That does not mean everything is suddenly okay. Far from it. A great deal of damage has already been done, and we as a country are not out of the woods.

I have very strong feelings about Donald Trump. I make no secret about that. I do not see him as a leader. In my eyes, I see a bully.

And unfortunately, I know what a bully looks like.

I Grew Up With a Bully

One of the biggest bullies in my life was a man I called Grandpa.

He will have been gone ten years this December.

He caused enormous damage in my life and in the lives of my mother, my sister, and people around him. Yet there were always people willing to defend him.

He was a bigot, a womanizer, and an abuser.

He never physically abused me, but emotionally and verbally? Yes.

That began when I was about five years old, after my mom went searching for her long-lost father.

Except he wasn’t really lost.

He had abandoned her.

For whatever reason, she felt she needed to find him and bring him back into our lives. Truthfully, I believe my life would have been better if I had never met the man.

He was no grandfather to me.

Yet we lived with him throughout much of my childhood and adulthood, stubbornly standing our ground and refusing to leave. Looking back, maybe that was dumb on our part, but after years of abuse, leaving felt like allowing him to win.

Eventually, like every man and woman, he died.

But the damage someone causes doesn’t necessarily die with them.

The hurt remains.

What We Carry With Us

I consider myself fortunate that I did not become him.

I also have to admit that I could have.

Years of conditioning, anger, vulgarity, and abuse leave marks on a person. Truthfully, I did not grow up right. Even today, he remains a topic of conversation between my wife and me.

My wife has a much simpler take on the situation: he’s dead now.

As a Christian, however, even that becomes complicated for me.

Christianity teaches me that God does not desire anyone to go to Hell. It also teaches me that none of us is perfect and that salvation isn’t mine to grant or deny.

I have called my grandfather “the Devil” for years. Do I believe he’s in Hell? Honestly, I don’t know.

Maybe, before he died, he had his own come-to-Jesus moment.

Many Christians would tell me that if he did, that’s amazing. He’s in glory now, and I should rejoice.

That’s hard for me.

He isn’t a man I hope to see in Heaven.

But God holds the keys to Heaven. I don’t.

If God allows him passage, that decision belongs to God, and who am I to question Him?

Maybe I should be more concerned about my own eternity.

Why Political Bullies Hit Me Differently

That brings me back to politics.

When I look at political leaders and see behavior that reminds me of bullying, it strikes something deeper inside me because I have lived with that personality before.

I know what it feels like when people defend someone regardless of what that person says or does. I know what it feels like when the people surrounding a bully make excuses for him.

Maybe that is why today’s politics affects me the way it does.

It isn’t merely policy.

Sometimes it feels personal.

I Didn’t Vote

Here’s something else I’m willing to admit:

I did not vote in this election.

I was an observer.

I had lost hope in our system.

For much of my life, I’ve carried this feeling that the world has told me I don’t matter. Sometimes, even today, I still feel that way.

But something happened.

People became fed up.

And they showed up.

I’m fed up too.

I work two jobs. My wife works. And somehow, especially living in California, simply surviving can still feel unbelievably difficult.

Some days I find myself asking:

What did I do to deserve this life?
Why is it so hard simply to survive?
Why is putting food on the damn table sometimes this difficult?
Why does paying rent feel like an accomplishment?
Why do basic necessities feel increasingly out of reach?

Did I fail to get the right education?
Was I not smart enough?
Did I choose the wrong career?
What was it?
What did I do wrong?

Maybe We’re All Pretending We’re Doing Better Than We Are

I look around and see other people prospering.

But maybe some of that is an illusion.

Maybe a lot of us are struggling quietly while presenting the version of ourselves that says everything is fine.

We’re all trying to live our best lives because what other choice do we have?

The alternative is frightening.

Homelessness. Hunger. Suffering.

And those aren’t hypothetical possibilities. Real people experience them every day.

This is one place where my anger toward wealthy and powerful political leaders comes from. I want the people making decisions about ordinary people’s lives to understand what an ordinary life actually feels like.

I want leaders to understand the fear of looking at a negative bank balance.

I want them to understand worrying about groceries. Rent. Gas. Healthcare. Their children’s future.

The thousand little calculations working families make every day just to remain standing.

Where Does God Fit Into All of This?

As a Christian, I also have to wrestle with another question.

Where is God in all of this?

I don’t blame God.

God is Almighty. I believe there are reasons for things that I cannot possibly understand. I believe God can use people and situations in ways none of us recognizes while we’re living through them.

God has used imperfect people throughout human history.

He uses us differently.

Sometimes we may not even realize we’re being used for a purpose larger than ourselves.

Maybe that’s part of faith.

Accepting that I don’t know everything.

The Part That Gave Me Hope

As new state and national leaders take their places, I know many people will attempt to weather the storm and put the country back on track.

That will not happen overnight.

My hope is simply that Democrats don’t blow the opportunity.

My hope is that they remain united around helping people who desperately need help.

Ultimately, though, my faith isn’t supposed to rest with Democrats or Republicans.

It rests with God.

God doesn’t need a political party.

One person who recently caught my attention is James Talarico of Texas.

I’m in California. I’m a Christian. I’ve never had much interest in politicians themselves, but hearing another Christian speak openly about faith, compassion, working people, and the responsibility to love our neighbors brought me some unexpected joy.

I don’t pretend to know everything about the man, and I’m not claiming he’s perfect.

No politician is.

But something about his message resonated with me.

A Message About Underdogs

What struck me most was the idea of David and Goliath.

The underdog facing something enormous.

Hope against power.

Faith against fear.

Ordinary people believing that perhaps they aren’t as powerless as they’ve been told they are.

And then there was something even simpler:

Love your neighbor.

Not merely the neighbor who looks like you. Not just the neighbor who worships like you. Not only the neighbor who votes like you. Your neighbor.

That idea shouldn’t be revolutionary.

Somehow, today, it feels like it is.

At this point in the original post, I shared James Talarico’s speech. Rather than reproducing the entire speech here, I encourage readers to watch or read it for themselves. What follows is my reflection on why his message affected me.

Something in Me Woke Up

During this moment in time, I’ve found myself thinking that humanity still exists.

Kindness still exists.

People are listening.

And maybe the sleeping giant isn’t sleeping anymore.

People are pissed.

People feel lied to.

They are angry about war, gas prices, housing, healthcare, food, wages, and an affordability crisis that didn’t suddenly appear with one president or one political party.

That’s important for me to acknowledge.

I don’t believe one president, Republican or Democrat, created all of this.

These problems have been building for decades.

The rich have gotten richer while many working and poor families are left with less.

Housing. Healthcare. Food. Basic necessities.

Things that shouldn’t feel like luxuries increasingly do.

When Wealth Becomes Power

My problem isn’t simply that some people are wealthy.

It’s what happens when enormous wealth becomes enormous influence.

When money can influence politics, media, technology, public conversation, and the information billions of people consume, we should at least be willing to ask uncomfortable questions about where that power leads.

People don’t necessarily need to be physically harmed for society to become less humane.

If ordinary families increasingly cannot afford housing, healthcare, food, or a decent quality of life while unimaginable wealth accumulates elsewhere, something deserves examination.

I don’t pretend to have all the answers.

I know only what life looks like from where I’m standing.

And from where I’m standing, something is broken.

Hope Doesn’t Put Food on the Table Tonight

I’m hopeful right now.

But I’m not naïve.

An election does not make someone’s rent disappear tomorrow.

It doesn’t fill an empty refrigerator tonight.

It doesn’t immediately lower somebody’s bills or eliminate their debt.

It doesn’t magically repair ten years of bitterness, hatred, and political division.

A new Congress won’t accomplish everything overnight. Neither will a new governor in California.

People still have to get up tomorrow morning.

They still have to go to work. They still have to feed their families. They still have to survive.

That is the part of politics I think gets forgotten.

Behind every vote is a human being.

This Isn’t Really About Politics

So, if you’re reading this, try not to think of it simply as a political message.

It’s a message about politics because politics has become part of our everyday existence.

Government decisions affect whether people can afford housing, receive healthcare, educate their children, find work, retire, and sometimes simply survive.

We expect our government to act ethically.

We expect our leaders to have some sense of morality.

We expect them to remember that leadership means serving people.

We’ve failed at that many times.

Still, I find myself admiring the people who enter public service genuinely wanting to make life better.

I couldn’t do it.

I don’t think I have the cutthroat mentality necessary for politics. Frankly, I probably wouldn’t last very long.

But I’ll admit something else.

There must be something extraordinary about knowing that the work you do could meaningfully change another person’s life.

Maybe that’s what politics is supposed to be.

Not celebrity. Not billionaires. Not Republicans. Not Democrats. Not who gets the last insult on television or social media.

People.

The parent trying to put food on the table. The teacher standing in front of a classroom. The worker checking the bank account before buying groceries. The family wondering whether the rent will get paid. The person who has spent years believing nobody is listening.

And Still, I Choose Hope

Maybe that’s why this moment affected me as deeply as it did.

Because for a long time, I have known what it feels like to believe the bully has all the power.

I learned that lesson as a child.

I learned it standing in a house with a man I called Grandpa, watching people defend someone who could cause so much hurt.

I’ve felt it as an adult too, working two jobs while my wife works, wondering why simply putting food on the table, paying the rent, and providing the necessities of life can sometimes feel like a battle we have to fight all over again every month.

I’ve felt powerless. I’ve felt angry. I’ve wondered whether anyone was listening.

And I’ve asked God more times than I can count: Why does it have to be this hard?

I still don’t have that answer.

An election didn’t give it to me. A politician can’t give it to me. And I’m certainly not naïve enough to believe that changing the people in government will suddenly make everything right.

Tomorrow morning, millions of people will still wake up worried about rent. Someone will still open a nearly empty refrigerator. Someone will still check a bank account before buying groceries. Someone will still wonder whether they can afford to take their child to the doctor. Someone will still feel forgotten.

Maybe even you.

Sometimes, it’s me.

But there’s something else I’ve learned from surviving bullies.

Bullies are powerful only as long as everyone else believes they are powerless.

Maybe that’s what I’m seeing differently now.

Not Democrats defeating Republicans. Not blue defeating red.

People remembering that they matter.

People remembering that their neighbor matters.

People remembering that wealth is not character, power is not righteousness, cruelty is not strength, and being loud does not make someone right.

And for me, as a Christian, there is something even bigger than all of it.

Presidents come and go. Political parties rise and fall. Governments change. Money disappears. Power eventually changes hands.

And every one of us, from the poorest person sleeping on the street to the wealthiest person sitting behind the largest desk, eventually faces the same mortality.

None of us is God.

That includes the people we fear. That includes the people we admire. That includes Donald Trump. That includes James Talarico. And that includes me.

So perhaps my mistake was believing my hope needed to come from any of them.

It doesn’t.

My faith belongs to God.

But my responsibility belongs here.

To my family. To my neighbors. To the people around me. To the stranger who is struggling just as hard as I am. To my daughter and the world her generation will inherit from us.

Maybe changing the world really does begin that small.

One person. One neighbor. One act of kindness. One person refusing to hate another simply because someone powerful told him he should.

And one exhausted person who has every reason to give up deciding: Not today.

I don’t know what happens next.

I don’t know what this country looks like a year from now, five years from now, or ten.

I don’t know whether the people we’ve entrusted with power will rise to the occasion or disappoint us once again.

But today, something feels different inside me.

After years of anger, disappointment, fear, division, financial struggle, and wondering whether ordinary people like me even matter, I felt something I haven’t felt strongly in a while.

Hope.

Not blind hope. Not political hope. Not the kind that pretends everything is suddenly okay.

The stubborn kind.

The kind that survives. The kind that says the bully doesn’t get the final word. The kind that says being knocked down doesn’t mean you stay there. The kind that says darkness can be real without being permanent.

Maybe that’s faith. Maybe that’s democracy. Maybe that’s simply being human.

Whatever you want to call it, I know one thing:

I’m not ready to give up.

And maybe the giant waking up isn’t Democrats. Maybe it isn’t Republicans. Maybe it isn’t any politician at all.

Maybe the giant is us.

And maybe we’re finally remembering that we were never as powerless as we were told.