Being a very religious person, I always pray before I go to sleep. I have a standard list of things that I ask God for. However, at the end I always say, "And may Barack Obama be inaugurated as President of the United States of America on January 20, 2009."
This prayer became such a regular part of my routine that I said it automatically every night. The words just rolled off of my tongue. One time, though, just as I had finished praying for Barack Obama, I felt a slight twinge. My heart seemed to be telling me, you’re doing something wrong. I ignored the feeling, not sure exactly what I meant.
Soon, though, it became very hard to ignore. The feeling was a constant companion, as irritating as those tiny gnats that buzz around your head during the summer.
And then I realized what was bothering me.
When I was younger, my mother told me a cautionary tale. She settled back into the sofa as she prepared to tell it, relaxing herself in preparation for the tale.
"One time," she began, "there was a very religious man. He prayed more than five times daily, read the entire Qur’an every week, and made pilgrimage every year. All of his friends and family considered him the most religious person they knew. His community regarded him with respect.
"The meteorologists were all predicting that a hurricane would hit his town. The storm was predicted to be devastating. All of the town’s people were evacuating. The man, however, refused.
"‘God,’ he said, ‘will protect me. I have been a faithful follower of his, and he will save me from the hurricane.’ His friend was distraught to hear this, and tried to convince him to evacuate. He strongly refused.
"Soon, his cousin came. The man and his cousin had a very close relationship. His cousin begged him to evacuate, but the man still refused.
"‘God,’ he stubbornly reiterated, ‘will protect me.’ His cousin spent almost an hour trying to convince the obstinate man, but in the end he was unable to change his mind. The cousin gave up and left to evacuate himself and his family.
"Finally, his mother came. The man respected his mother, but he still refused when she begged him to evacuate. She was sobbing, gasping tears rolling down her cheeks. The man repeated his conviction that God would protect him.
"One hour before the hurricane was forecast to strike, the area surrounding the man was a ghost town. No civilians remained, save for the man himself. He heard a knock on the door.
"A rescue official stood outside. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘it would be a good idea for you to leave. This storm looks like it’s gonna be bad."
"The man shook his head. ‘God is going to protect me,’ he repeated, his eyes strong with his belief. The rescue worker sighed and left; he had done his duty.
"The hurricane was every bit as bad as the meteorologists had predicted, and then some. The storm blew its destructive breath through the entire town, and it destroyed all that it touched. Houses collapsed into rubble, buildings fell like a child just learning to walk, and trees collapsed under its power.
"The man’s house was no exception, and he was killed under the rubble of his house.
"Once he realized he was dead, he asked God, ‘Why didn’t you save me?’
"God replied, ‘I sent several people that warned you to leave. Your friend, your cousin, your mother, and a rescue worker all advised you to evacuate. I only help those who help themselves.’"
***
I was like the foolish man in the story, doing nothing but praying when I should be helping myself. Even though it was rather late, I slipped downstairs to the computer and went to BarackObama.com. Immediately, I found out where my local campaign office was, and I showed up there the next day.
Don’t be like the foolish man in the story. Instead of just wringing your hands on Election Day, get out there and call some people. Better yet, knock on some doors or drive people to the polls. Even if you can only call one person, that’s one person that might now be voting for Barack Obama who wouldn’t have. And if each of us on Daily Kos convinced one person to vote for Obama...well, that’s a lot of voters.