Late night on Tuesday, January 5, 2020, after holding my breath for several hours waiting to know the outcome of the Georgia runoffs, I sat in the dark in front of the Christmas tree, soaking its irresistible loveliness for a final few moments: its sculptural shape illuminated by carefully-arranged tiny twinkling lights; the combination of kitschy, exquisite, and child-made ornaments; the strands of cranberries; the origami garland my sister made for us this year. This tree gave me much joy this Advent and Christmas, its treasures filling my need for beauty and whimsy, as our local and broader communities creaked under the weight of politics, of the pandemic.

Many of us are not passively waiting, but actively searching and advocating for ourselves and for others. And yet the longer our wait drags on, the harder it is to keep waiting. We realize that our efforts can only get us so far—there is only so much in our control. Waiting is exhausting.

America has long used scripture (with buy-in from its church) to oppress its people. I have been brainwashed into believing the myth of American History as written by white men. I have been conned into buying the facade of the American Dream as painted by white men. As an Asian American Christian, white-adjacent model minority and simultaneous perpetual other, I have often been complicit in upholding this intricately woven (and incredibly strong!) web of lies upon which American society stands.