Everyone has blind spots. There are perspectives we just can’t see. Even when we’re told and shown that they’re there, it can still be really hard to see them. We have to work at seeing what isn’t obvious to us. We have to work at believing other people when they tell us what they can see, even if it’s never been our experience.

Knowing we have blind spots keeps us humble. They invite us to ask ourselves, “What does it mean to be a good human today?” However, our blind spots can also shut down conversation if we continue forth in ignorance. Instead of the previous question, we might pad our blind spots with protective religious platitudes, keeping others at a safe and comfortable distance: “Everything happens for a reason,” “Trust God,” and the one I’ve heard many times before, “God used the womanizer, King David, and he wrote the Psalms!” What a perfect way to shut down conversation and stop hearing grief.

I guess that’s what I want to ask of us, regardless of who we voted for. Listen to the grief of those closest to the pain and fear. Really listen. Don’t gaslight their grief. Don’t receive their grief, wrap it with some positive bow, and hand it back shiny with that silver lining you graciously added. And please don’t say,“It’s not all Christians,” like that’s supposed to make those grieving feel better. That phrase isn’t helpful. We all know “It’s not all Christians / Muslims / liberals / conservatives / straight / queer / white / BIPOC / disabled/ ambulatory…” who do this or that or think this way or that way. Deflecting blame sure keeps us inactive and comfortable, and it’s a damn privilege to feel comfortable.

A president won’t save us. They won’t fix everything or make everything comfortable for everyone, even though half of us seem to get hoodwinked every four years. We can only save each other. And the more we surround ourselves with those who think, look, vote and behave like us, those are who we keep saving. And this cycle can continue for me, insulated with pale skin and straight teeth revealing pedigree like currency—protected and encased, with the benefits of comfortable privilege.

It takes effort to unzip and step out of this encased space. It takes effort to listen to those closest to the grief. It takes intentionality to recognize our blind spots every day. When I think about Jesus, he could have lived a comfortable life surrounded by popular religious and powerful thinkers who interpreted Torah with pomp and circumstance, protected and revered. But he lived on the fringe, surrounding himself with outcasts and hurting people often overlooked by the powerful. He said those who are grieving are blessed, because God is closest to them. Those who are poor, who are merciful, who make peace, are blessed. Jesus listened to the hurt and was near to those in pain without saying God’s ways were higher than their ways. He was present, and I hope I can be present too. Because I cannot see my own blind spots without you telling me what you see.

What’s done is done, but it’s never really done, is it? Tuesday doesn’t define today or tomorrow and every day after Tuesday is more important with how we behave and live, love and give ourselves for that common good. You might be cheering. You might be grieving. You might feel paralyzed and question everything you ever believed in. Be kind to yourself and others. Drink enough water. Pet your cat. Text a funny GIF. Do five push-ups. Pray The Lord’s Prayer at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Send a card to some kids at The Raven Project. Because the hope of tomorrow is greater than the grief and fears of today.

Obama wasn’t our savior. Reagan wasn’t our savior. Harris wouldn’t have been our savior. And Trump won’t be our savior. To place one’s faith in a politician is an endless folly you’d think we’d have learned from by now.

Really, though, I am not without hope. I am not under the covers in despair because my faith is in Jesus, and in you. I believe in goodness, and even though the people have spoken I believe we will still show up with a casserole for our sick neighbor and a cup of coffee for the old guy in the red MAGA hat and a hug for the trans kid, because “In the end, ‘politics’ means ‘how I treat my neighbor.’”

The work of LOVE continues forth, regardless of who is in the Oval. May we see what you see and may we humbly keep our eyes open.