An Inauguration Tale: Dorothy in the Land of Oz

My friend Monica Matthews shared this poignant perspective at her site while on the streets of DC at President Trump’s inauguration festivities.

As we watch snowflakes shatter shop windows and vulgar celebrities threaten to blow up The White House, keep her encouraging words in mind:


I’m in my element. The normal folk. This evening, I’ll be in a ballgown, with the not-so-normal folk.

That’s me. That’s what I do. And I’m grateful.

Cruising the city streets on the night before the fringe, the hopeful and the resolutes descend upon our nation’s capitol leaves one with an anticipation much like that of watching all the circus trucks come to town.

You know the show will be good and filled with humans who come from all walks of life to simply be entertained for a few hours.

Entertainment. What an interesting word. One most Americans can relate to and hold in high regard. We do love our fanfare and if it’s one thing we’ve got down here in the city of secrets, power and lust, it’s a love for the glitter and pageantry of running the show behind the curtain.

This is Oz, the land of politics. I’ve played Dorothy for the better half of my day and evening prior to the seismic shifting of the power plates.

It’s quiet here. Nearly ominous. I’m reminded of Gideon’s army. I may be in a ballgown, but I drink water like a warrior. And you should too.

My uber travels and street interviews have afforded honest introductions to the brave, the hopeful, the fearful. And I just can’t help but wonder when those nasty little monkeys will begin to fly through the air directed by their leader, the witch, (aptly head quartered on the foggy bottom of Oz) The one hell bent on maintaining the power that comes by manipulating the human spirit to accomplish her will. When will they all descend upon the city of Oz?

For now, I’d like to focus on the cast of characters that we can all relate to in our cast of Americans and Oz. How many of you can relate to being scared to absolute death right now? The uncertainty that comes with the nightly broadcasts basted in propaganda and slander? Those of you putting on ‘the face’ of courage everyday to go to work but deep down you wonder what the heck is going on and whether or not you have what it takes to survive these times? The lion.  

How many of you can relate to not being able to keep up with the tiresome narratives that all weave one common communication; you need government to  make all your decisions for you because you haven’t been taught how to run your own race in the face of individual accountability that collectively feeds the health of the whole? Breeding doubt, blame replaces brotherhood as you look to everyone around you to make up for what you believe you lack. The Scarecrow. 

And lastly, how many of us can relate to being so dismayed by the lawless flying media monkeys that all we have left is hard heart? The emasculated American voice merely a squeaky limb of a body quickly rusting and in need of an overhaul. The Tin Man. 

Our American sewers tell the true story of the condition of our hearts, minds and bodies.  Riddled with evidence of our inability to sleep, eat or experience peace without ‘aid’. Hearts are broken, afraid and cold in what seems like a never-ending departure from core values. Those pillars of existence that allow us to behave great because we are great.

We trek to Oz to find what’s already inside. And Oz is happy to provide the popcorn, antacids, booze, sleep aids, 140 character brawls and noise.

The flying monkeys are calling for our attention to look back and to waste our precious energy swatting, fleeing, defending our right to exist freely and prosperously, but hope springs eternal and directs our gaze up and forward.

We know what’s behind the curtain of Washington and think it’s not an accurate reflection of who we’ve become in spite of the fact that they were birthed from our own vote. With personal accountability comes freedom from the fanfare and renewal.

As a proverbial Dorothy of the 2017 Inauguration, I would simply leave you with this encouragement: We are a land of liberty. Birthed in the heart of THE author of liberty. Individually, he sees all. He sees the scared, the dismayed, the abandoned and he leaves us with an ingredient America has extended to many nations over her years: hope.

The gates of oppressive hell will not prevail against the liberty birthed in heaven. Take solace. Your God sees you. He hears our collective cry to return, be washed in the renewal of our minds and hearts and to be the city on a hill that serves as a beacon of liberty for all.

We’re not in Kansas anymore. We survived the eight year storm.

It’s time to put our collective big girl and boy pants on and do the work of being who we really are: hard-working, hospitable, charitable, sober, liberty loving patriotic humans birthed for such a time as this.

Time to put on my slippers.

Let’s roll America!


 

If you’re not already following Monica for her candid conversations about faith and politics, click here to discover more about her, her show, and her new book When Jesus Isn’t Enough.

About the author

Bill Blankschaen

View all posts