What concerns me the most this election cycle? You might be surprised by the answer.

Hi, I’m a person.

Despite what some commenters think, I’m not a paid Democrat operative. Despite their theories, my piece wasn’t ghostwritten by Hillary’s team. Despite how some have argued and flooded me with links as if I didn’t research my post, I watched and read extensively from varied sources in the hours it took to draft what I shared last weekend.

One commenter wrote, "if this is indeed a real person, she either is a flaming pro-abort or is too busy with children to do much more than arrange sound bites from the liberal, dishonest media." Sigh.

I’m a person who spent a week on vacation and wrote a research paper on politics and pro-life ideology for fun. So, yes, I'm a nerd, but I'm still a person. 

I know we don’t all agree. I never asked or demanded anyone else to share my views. I was careful to express respect and care for those who hold other positions, even as I honestly expressed that I don’t understand how Christians can support Trump. (This post, also lengthy, does an exceptional job of expanding upon that. I don’t agree with a couple of his points, but I think the biblical arguments are compelling.) But I never attacked anyone for holding a different conviction than I do.

Meanwhile, my comment sections… mercy.

I usually police them. I didn’t this time. Part of it was because I couldn’t keep up with each one. But part of it is that I think we all need to be heard. So I was more lenient than usual.

I think I erred on the side of grace, maybe too much so. I allowed people to question my integrity and faith and intellect without shutting that down. When I felt like someone was harsh to a close friend in the comments, though, I jumped in to protect her and stop it immediately. When it came to me, I wasn’t as protective.

I’m going to need to spend a while processing what that means.

I know this, though: I’m learning to value myself as much as I value others. I’m definitely not there yet. My wrist might be branded with the word enough, but my heart doesn’t always believe it. As a result, I stood by, tolerating more heartless and unkind comments directed at me than I should have allowed.

I’ve always tried to make others comfortable, sometimes with severe consequences to my health or safety. Earlier this year, I stopped having any contact with someone who has persistently and at times violently abused me throughout my life. Afterward, my therapist said, “You’ve always limited your children’s contact with him. It seems like you’re starting to value your own safety and protection as much as you value theirs.”

Boom.

Just as I deserved better than my abuse, we all deserve better than current political rhetoric offers. We are all better than the dehumanizing shouts and snarky digs that have become common at rallies and on the internet. We would correct our children if they ever spoke with such disregard for another person as we do about the candidates we dislike. (Ouch.)

If America needs to be made great, I can guarantee the answer isn’t the candidate who keeps promising that. The answer isn’t the other candidate either, though. The answer is a return to common decency and civil debate. The answer is re-learning how to disagree without being disagreeable. The answer is to model for our children how we would want them to act toward someone with whom they don’t see eye to eye. The answer is loving ourselves and then loving our neighbors as ourselves. The answer is to love our God and each other more than we love our political parties or patriotism.

I don’t know how to bring about this change on a large scale, but I know what I can do for myself. I am striving to see every human being – even [insert the name of the candidate whose positions you find abhorrent] – as a precious life created in the image of God. My theology says that is truth. This goes for every person, every commenter, who disagrees with me too. Reducing anyone to a caricature or stereotype and dismissing different views as indoctrination isn’t treating each other with dignity or respect. If I refuse to support a candidate for denigrating those he doesn’t like but then do the same to him, I have lost any moral high ground I claim. 

My Bible also says I’m to show honor and offer prayers to governing authorities. I don't think any of us has done that well, honestly. I watched as some criticized the humanity – and not just the policies – of George W. Bush while his supporters cried foul, and then I watched as those crying foul did the same exact thing to Barack Obama while those who had been cruel before chastised the people now occupying their still warm spots in the cheap seats. Pot, meet kettle. Both sides stand guilty here.

We can’t spend an entire election cycle dehumanizing the other side and then, if our candidate loses, treat the new leader as a person worthy of respect. Our brains and emotions don’t work that way. If we are called to show deference to those in authority, then we have to start when they are running for office. We can’t throw around disparaging words like Killary or Drumpf and then respect to President Clinton or President Trump.

Let me be clear: I’m not saying you have to respect the words or actions or platforms of each candidate. I'm also not saying I've changed my mind about my last post. (I haven't.) But I am saying, Christians, we must aim to respect the personhood of each one, as an act of worship glorifying to the Creator we all share in common. Even if you don’t share my faith, I’d encourage you to exercise the same principle, as a demonstration that our shared humanity is more valuable than our differences.

I’ve heard some friends say they’ve never been so dismayed for our country as they are by Hillary. I’ve heard others say the same about Trump. As for me, it's not either candidate who worries me. It's not Supreme Court appointments or emails or racism or marriage protections or misgyny or [fill in the blank]. No, none of those bother me the most.

I’ve never been so concerned for our nation and my children as I have by the lack of care we show each other over political differences.

This week I learned that some of my friendships were conditional. Some who I’ve laughed with and prayed with and cried with and worshiped with turned from me because I said I was voting for Hillary as an expression of my pro-life beliefs. Hurtful comments from strangers didn’t pain me, but slander and abandonment and unfriending from those who I love and who I thought loved me… that stung.

I’m a person.

So are you.

So is Hillary. So is Trump. So is each of the third party candidates.

So are Republicans. So are Democrats. So are independents.

So are those who vote for either major candidate. So are those who vote third party. So are those who don’t vote.

So are those who agree with you. So are those who don’t.

I’m not as concerned about if you’re Team Hillary 2016 – like me – or Team Trump 2016 as I am that we’re all Team Humanity 2016. Let’s disagree with policies and politics and positions, not with people. And if I resolve to do this and you do and so on, then I think we can change our political climate for the better.

We can do this. I’m sure of it. Who's with me? 

thank you for your outrage about the Stanford rape case

Outrage has gotten a bad reputation lately. I'm not sure that's fair. Sure, we shouldn't be fired up all the time. But? If we're never outraged in this world full of brokenness, then we're either heartless or simply not paying attention.

(That said, give yourself permission to not pay attention sometimes. If you need to step away from all media outlets from time to time because life hurts too much, you're not alone. Step away. Take care of you. The world won't suffer without your outrage. Promise.)

When outrageous events occur, outrage should follow. That's logical. Healthy. Good. Deserved. Meanwhile, if we can stay silent in the face of injustice, something inside us is woefully broken.

Lately the main topic of social media outrage is one million percent deserved. When news stories about a heinous crime lead with descriptions of how much alcohol was consumed and what a skilled athlete the offender is, that's not okay. When a judge handing down a shockingly short sentence on three violent felonies expresses more concern for the rapist's future well-being than the victim's, that's not okay. When the only truth teller in the room is the one who is still recovering from her trauma, that's not okay. When the perpetrator talks about wanting to address the drinking culture at college without acknowledging the rape culture, that's not okay. When the felon's father refers to the rape as 20 minutes of action as he excuses his son's behavior, that's not okay. When black criminals are identified in the press by their mug shots but it takes public outcry to get the white swimmer boy's, that's not okay.

When so much is not okay, outrage is the righteous and just and proper response.

I haven't shared a single post about this situation, though. So far, I've been silent. But I've been soaking in your outrage. It's been a gift, truly, because this feels personal to me.

I wasn't behind a dumpster. I didn't face my attacker in a courtroom. I couldn't speak with the survivor's eloquence until years later. I've never publicly owned this part of my story before now. I don't see any benefit to you or me in offering specifics, but let's just say that I identify with the brave girl in the beige cardigan in more ways than one.

Yes, I am a survivor of sexual assault as well.

I don't think we need to be inflamed by every topic of potential outrage in our Twitter and Facebook feeds. But this one has been so worthy of our outrage. And with each post someone has made, it's felt like you're not just saying that she is worthy of more than what she has endured.

I'm hearing that you believe I'm worthy of more than what I endured.

Other survivors are hearing you too.

And? We are thankful for your outrage.

“And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or dismiss you, I am with you. I fought everyday for you. So never stop fighting, I believe you. As the author Anne Lamott once wrote, “Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.” Although I can’t save every boat, I hope that by speaking today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing that you can’t be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere, and a big, big knowing that you are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you. Thank you.”

— the survivor in the Stanford rape case

So, please, keep being outraged. Keep speaking up. Keep saying this is not okay.

Some of us can't speak out like the Stanford survivor did so powerfully, maybe not yet or maybe not ever. If you can and you do, your voice matters. I truly believe that righteous outrage can make a difference.

After all, rape is always bad. Outrage isn't.

Thank you for your outrage.

*All quotes can be found in this courageous statement from the survivor herself. If you haven't read it yet, please click here so that you can.