"When the Old Order Finally Falls Quiet"

When I lived in South Carolina as a mature adult for about five years to be closer to my mother, I voted every time with the intention of supporting whoever might unseat Lindsey Graham. Nikki Haley was governor then, and I didn’t think much of her either — not until she removed the Confederate flag after the Charleston Emanuel Church shooting. That moment mattered. It shifted something.

We came so close that one year — 2020 — closer than I ever imagined. Analysts described it as the political fight of Graham’s life. Jamie Harrison raised record-breaking money and blanketed the state with ads. Polls showed Graham slipping or tied. Harrison’s message — Medicaid expansion, COVID relief, and a moderate, empathetic tone — resonated across racial and political lines. His background made him a formidable challenger.

In the end, Harrison lost by about ten points. Still, it was historic — the closest a Democrat had come to beating Graham. And I remember thinking, as I often do, that God has the ultimate say and the ultimate plan. When it’s time for a thing to be gone — a season, a tenure, a chapter — it goes, no matter how long it lasted or how deeply it shaped the people who lived under it.

I don’t celebrate anyone’s passing. I don’t rewrite history either. I simply acknowledge what I lived: the years of voting, the hope, the disappointment, the closeness of that race, and now the quiet finality of a chapter closing in a place that no longer holds me.

A cotton field has grown and is ready for harvest in South Carolina.