Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on Footnotes by Jemar Tisby, on October 7, 2025.
Morning light slips through your curtains, warming the comforter as you stretch awake—safe, rested, and secure in a home you can afford.
The coffee maker sputters to life as the morning news hums. Congress just passed sweeping new education and job programs.
The policy wonks say millions will rise out of poverty thanks to this national investment.
You dress for the day and step outside—crisp air and the smell of autumn leaves.
Your neighbor, Mr. Garcia, herds his kids toward the minivan, the quotidian chaos of school drop off.
You share a friendly wave and smile, glad you’ll be able to see the whole family later in the week. They graciously offered to host you for dinner…again. And you don’t ever say “no” to a home-cooked Garcia meal.
You grab your bike and start pedaling to work.
Will you ever stop feeling the surge of gratitude for the city ordinance that created more bike lanes and walkable areas? No more cortisol spikes as you battle traffic and your temper in the car.
Your heart is light. Work is still work, but they treat you like a human being.
You could hardly believe it when they said all employees get 1-month PTO standard (and they make sure you take all of it), full health care, and retirement benefits.
Photo Credit: Matthew Waring
You glide past a collage of local businesses—the bookstore with its plush couches, the coffee shop hiring the formerly incarcerated persons, the barbershop’s music thumping like a heartbeat.
The old stone church tolls the hour—low, steady bells echoing off brick and glass, grounding the morning in something ancient.
You honestly don’t know what the community would be like without their kindness and generosity. It’s so refreshing to see people actually following the teachings of their own religion.
The best part of your morning commute is passing by the elementary school.
You see a kaleidoscope of kids from all kinds of backgrounds doing silly morning motions outside. Some research you heard at the last school board meeting about natural light and physical movement being good prep for learning.
After work you head straight to Peruvian place down the street to meet your friends. They’ve always got the freshest ceviche, and the owners know you by name.
You call it a night and head home early. Dad is waiting for his weekly phone call. And your latest book is calling your name.
As you turn out the lights on another mundane but satisfying day, you breathe deeply and quickly drift off into slumber.
While the specific contours of a lovely day-in-the-life may differ from person to person, the basic principles remain constant.
As human beings we are wired for community and connection. We seek safety and fulfillment. Crave choices and opportunity.
Who wouldn’t want to live in a community where we are not only polite to our neighbors, but actually know and trust them? Where all are welcome.
Don’t we all want employers who value our humanity and provide enough resources for us to work full-time and not have to worry about making ends meet?
We want schools where our children receive instruction from highly-trained and caring educators in an environment safe from violence in all its forms.
We want elected officials who take solemnly their responsibility to represent their constituents—all of them.
This is not a perfect society.
As Coretta Scott King described the Beloved Community:
I am not talking about a utopian dream of a perfect society in which everyone lives together without conflict…
To me, the Beloved Community is a realistic vision of an achievable society, one in which problems and conflict exist, but are resolved peacefully and without bitterness.
In the Beloved Community, caring and compassion drive political policies that support the worldwide elimination of poverty and hunger and all forms of bigotry and violence.
Whether you call it the Beloved Community, the redemptive community (James Lawson), or the misión integral (C. René Padilla)—there are common threads that that run through all visions of a better society.
Those tapestries of a better day are woven together by the threads of love, dignity, unity, and purpose.
The divisions in politics and society we face now are fundamentally narrative in nature.
People live by stories—of what the world should be, why it’s not that way, and who’s to blame for it.
For those who have bought into the story of white Christian nationalism and other anti-democratic and dehumanizing ideologies, we have to present a better story.
As makers of peace and doers of justice we must not only point out what is wrong in the world but also paint a picture of what is possible.
A constructive vision is the flip side of social criticism. Instead of solely pointing out what is broken (which is necessary), we also gesture toward the bright horizon of possibility.
Painting a positive portrait of the future isn’t about skipping over deep differences. It’s not about minimizing the harmful beliefs and actions of others.
It’s about recognizing that we are fundamentally creatures of story. And if we want to live in a better world, we need to invite people into a better story.
The story starts with the worlds we dare to imagine. We must picture them so clearly we can feel its edges and textures.
Only a vivid dream of tomorrow gives us the courage to live faithfully today.
If the architects of division choose to tell tales of fear and animosity, we can tell more virtuous ones.
Our narratives must be kinder. More attractive. More audacious.
We must tell the stories of the communities we long for.
And if we can imagine it, we can build it…together.
This article was originally published on Footnotes by Jemar Tisby, on October 7, 2025.
