Holding Onto Humanity

A Reflection on America

"How do we keep in touch with humanity through it all?"

That question has been sitting heavy with me lately.

Like many of you, I’ve been watching what’s happening around our country—the protests, the headlines, the naming of a political figure as "King" in a democratic nation. It feels like we’re in a new era, one where the divisions between us are louder and more extreme than ever. We are a nation shaped by freedom, yet strained by fear. And if we're honest, that tension has been growing for a long time.

We are hurt. We are skeptical. We are, in many ways, collectively traumatized.

Over the last five years alone, we’ve endured a global pandemic that disrupted every facet of daily life. According to Pew Research, nearly 4 in 10 Americans say their relationships have suffered because of political disagreements. We’ve faced an unprecedented number of mass shootings—more than 600 per year since 2020—a staggering reminder of the violence that bleeds into our communities, particularly among our youth. And social media? It’s become both a lifeline and a landmine.

In a culture that often moves at the speed of outrage, how do we slow down enough to feel? To listen? To heal?

Ecclesiastes says there is a season for everything: a time to break down, and a time to build up. We are, I believe, in a time where building back our humanity is the work most needed.

As a man who spent 22 years behind bars and emerged committed to community and justice, I’ve seen both the brokenness and the beauty of America. I know what it means to be thrown away by society, but also what it means to be reclaimed by it.

So I ask again: How do we keep in touch with our humanity?

We do it by remembering that we are more than what divides us. We are more than party lines or ideologies. More than our news feeds. We are people.

People who want to feel safe in our neighborhoods. People who want our kids to grow up without fearing for their lives. People who want dignity, belonging, and opportunity.

Despite what some would call a descent into authoritarianism or a rise in civil unrest, we’ve also seen glimpses of our strength. During crisis, Americans do show up. Whether it’s floods, fires, or the fight for justice, there is still a heartbeat of collective care.

We can't ignore the pain. But we can choose how we respond to it.

America has always been a paradox—land of the free, home of the brave, and yet built on histories of oppression, inequality, and war. We carry an ego of exceptionalism, but also a legacy of endurance.

The Apostle Paul once wrote, "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." It is a call not to retreat into cynicism, but to rise with purpose.

A 2023 study by the American Psychological Association showed that over 75% of Americans reported feeling stress about the future of the country. And yet, in that same survey, the majority also believed that working together as a community could create positive change.

That’s the flicker of hope I hold onto.

Because what we need now is not more dominance—but more depth.

We don’t need to race toward supremacy, we need to slow down into empathy.

Aristotle once said, "Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom." And in knowing ourselves—our stories, our scars, our sacredness—we can come to better know each other.

This work must begin in our homes and radiate outward.

We cannot expect our leaders to embody what we ourselves have not practiced. Love thy neighbor, said Christ—but in a time when our neighbors might hold opposing signs or identities, what does that look like? It looks like staying in conversation. It looks like humility. It looks like keeping our hearts soft in a hardened age.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. noted, "We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools." That was not just a poetic line. It was a prophetic warning—and one we must still heed.

When I talk with young people today, I hear hunger. Not just for success or fame, but for something deeper: belonging. Purpose. Legacy. And many of them don’t trust the systems handed down to them. Who could blame them?

But I encourage them to do more than tear down—to also build. To create. To participate in the future they want to inherit.

And part of that creation comes from healing the trauma we carry.

The U.S. ranks highest among wealthy nations for youth gun violence. Over 7 million children live in households where at least one parent has been incarcerated. Rates of anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation among teenagers have surged by over 40% in the past decade, according to the CDC.

This is not just policy failure. It’s a moral failure.

But Scripture reminds us that we are never without the capacity to turn. To repent. To be renewed.

Isaiah wrote, "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint."

That scripture is a promise, and it speaks directly to where we are as a people. To wait upon the Lord doesn’t mean to stand idle; it means to trust with intention. It means grounding ourselves in faith, especially when the world around us feels unstable.

Today, waiting upon the Lord might look like choosing peace over retaliation, choosing justice over revenge, or taking the slower road of reconciliation when the fast road of rage is calling our name. It might mean showing up for your community when you're running on empty, or continuing to love this country even when it doesn’t seem to love you back.

To mount up with wings as eagles is to rise above the noise—above the division, the fear, and the despair. Eagles don’t fly through storms; they rise above them. That’s what faith allows us to do. And the promise that we will not grow weary or faint—that’s for those of us carrying heavy burdens, working for change, parenting in crisis, advocating for justice, or healing from trauma. God promises us that we won’t run out of strength if we stay connected to the source.

And it is in that spirit of renewal—quiet, steady, and grounded—that we must continue.

Keeping in touch with humanity means:

• Having the hard conversations across dinner tables and boardrooms.

• Teaching our kids emotional intelligence alongside history.

• Voting, not just with ballots, but with our values.

• Honoring our veterans, our workers, our teachers, our elders.

• Investing in trauma recovery, mental health, and reconciliation.

• Dismantling systems that marginalize while building systems that restore.

  
  

It means resisting the temptation to dehumanize those who disagree with us. It means resisting the numbing pull of entertainment when what we need is education. It means embracing the discomfort that comes with change.

In the work I do through CODA and the PTSD + ME program, I meet men and women who have endured incredible pain—some inflicted by others, some self-inflicted. But what stands out most isn’t the pain. It’s the possibility. It’s the spark of hope in their eyes when they realize they are not alone, that they matter, and that healing is not only possible—it is their right.

That spark is what keeps me believing.

And belief, rooted in both faith and experience, is powerful.

St. Augustine once said, "Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are Anger and Courage; anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain as they are."

So let us be angry when justice is delayed. Let us be courageous in facing uncomfortable truths. And let us be hopeful in our pursuit of something better.

I still believe in America. Not the image, but the people. I believe in the ones working every day to make it better, more just, more whole. I believe in those who lead from the margins, not for spotlight, but for the soul of our communities.

So I ask again, not just to myself, but to you:

How do we keep in touch with our humanity?

We stay rooted in the truth. We remember each other’s names. We choose compassion, even when it's hard. We hold faith, not only in a higher power, but in each other. We return to our better angels. We rebuild what has been broken. And we keep building the kind of future that doesn’t just survive—but heals.

Stay humble and present with your community,

-Troy Rienstra