I’ve been attending church lately. It’s new for me. I haven’t decided if I’ll get baptized. I’ve got a lot of questions, a lot of history, and a lot of hesitation when it comes to organized religion. But I’m showing up. I’m listening. I’m learning.
And I’m also pushing back.
Because recently, in a conversation about voting, someone told me, “It doesn’t matter anyway. Things are going exactly like the Bible said they would.”
They were talking about Revelations. About plagues, starvation, war. The End of Days.
And I get it. I do. When the world feels like it’s unraveling, it’s tempting to believe it’s all part of a divine script. That we’re just passengers on a train headed for collapse. That our choices don’t matter because prophecy will play out regardless.
But I can’t live like that.
I used to be one of those people who didn’t vote. Thought it didn’t count. Thought the system was too broken, too rigged, too far gone. And if it had just been me, maybe I’d have been right. But it wasn’t just me.
According to the Environmental Voter Project, 85.9 million eligible voters skipped the 2024 general election. That’s more than voted for either candidate. If “Did Not Vote” had been a presidential contender, it would’ve won 21 states and 265 electoral votes.
So yeah—my vote counts. And so would yours.
But this isn’t just about ballots. It’s about belief.
Because when we say “nothing can change,” we’re not just giving up on politics—we’re giving up on people. On community. On compassion. On the very things scripture calls us to uphold.
Love your neighbor.
Care for the poor.
Welcome the stranger.
Speak truth to power.
Reject the worship of money and celebrity.
Protect the vulnerable.
Feed the hungry.
Tend the land.
Seek justice.
Do mercy.
None of that sounds passive to me.
If anything, it sounds like a call to action. A blueprint for resistance. A way to live because the world is hard—not in spite of it.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know how prophecy plays out. But I do know this: surrendering to despair is not faith. It’s fear dressed up as theology.
And I’m not lying down for the End of Days.
I’m planting seeds. I’m feeding people. I’m voting. I’m raising kids who know how to think critically and care deeply. I’m showing up to church with questions. I’m showing up to the farm with hope.
Because if we’re going down, I want to go down swinging—with love in my hands and dirt under my nails.
