Well, the writer’s block seems to have been jostled loose at last. In this week’s Kimball’s Korner, the sound of something sweet is finally blocking out the chaos surrounding us.
The world outside is in a state of constant, jagged motion—all seemingly designed and plotted by masterminds to deflect and distract. And it’s working. Hook, line, and sinker. But if you are really paying attention, you will know that just outside your walls, the national debt blossoms like a weed, growing by over $7 billion every single day. Here in Idaho, the cost of living feels the squeeze as gas prices skyrocket, jumping nearly 50 cents in a single week to $3.79 a gallon (I know, I know—it’s the "former guy's" fault), while the shadow of unemployment creeps up to 4.4%.
Even the simple hope of escape has turned sour. At the airports, TSA workers are being forced to work without paychecks as the shutdown drags on, leading to sprawling lines and the heartbreak of missed dream vacations. Families who saved for years now stand stranded at gates, caught in the gears of a friction they didn’t create. Over 300 TSA agents have quit this week alone, tired of being used as pawns.
Just up the street, the air feels heavy with the restless rumble of Idaho politics. I can almost hear the tension of the Statehouse, where the performative noise of memorials to overturn same-sex marriage and bills to ban nylon pride flags from city halls seemingly take precedence over the crumbling foundations of our daily lives.
In the halls of power, these distractions appear more important than the housing crisis, our failing infrastructure, or our struggling schools. Even our very well-being is on the chopping block; while health insurance premiums jump another 10% this year and federal subsidies vanish, our leaders are mulling over $22 million in cuts to Medicaid services for the disabled. It’s a bitter pill to swallow: paying more for less, while the state’s budget sits dried up with a $44 million deficit looming. It feels as though every corner of our lives is being pulled tight by a string that is ready to snap.
Yet, I woke up this morning to a different reality—one we have been lucky enough to claim for years.
As I lay in bed, the warmth of a coffee mug in my hands, the noise of the world faded into the background. I heard them: the soft, rhythmic cooing of two doves. They have returned once again to the very same tree and the very same nest, indifferent to the churn of the economy, the shutdown of the government, or the shouting under the rotunda. In their steady return, spring hasn't just arrived; it has come home.
While so many are caught up in supporting the noise, the wars, and the lack of unity fracturing our country, I choose a different path today. I will open the window to let in the song of the doves. It seems to be the only true peace left in the world right now—and for that simple, soaring grace, I am deeply grateful.
Today, try to listen for something different. If you can hear above the noise and chaos.
