The world is a crazy place.
It only takes a couple of minutes on any social media platform to see evidence of this…people are incredibly divided. They are distraught. Everyone is convinced of their viewpoints; they are adamant in their positions. Each side seems to think society is degrading at a rapid rate, and the answer lies in shutting down the ones that oppose them.
And here’s the thing; I know people on both sides. I know hearts on both sides. And yes, I have my own opinions on current events (on a local, national, and worldwide scale), but I am confident that the hearts I know are well motivated and inspired by love and the desire to do what is right. On both sides.
And yet we are distraught, depressed, and divided.
I’m not going to discuss politics here. I’m not saying there is no such thing as absolute truth. I’m not implying that right and wrong don’t exist. They do. But what I fear most, what I fear I am seeing around us, is an elevation of politics over people and a stress that supersedes the ability to mentally carry it.
I’m no politician, and a lot of the heavy topics circling around do not have easy answers. But I am a mom who has, in the past, struggled heavily with being so overcome by the constant barrage of bad news and worry about the future that I lost my ability to do good work in my present. I felt so much pity for children on the other side of the world that I was distracted in paying attention to the children right in front of me. I was so anxious about what might happen that I missed all joy in what was happening. I was so worried about the world losing its goodness and beauty that I lost my daily chances to create goodness and beauty in my own home.
Of course, as Christians, we are called to be in the world; to serve; to be “salt and light”. We’re told to carry others’ burdens and weep with those who weep and pray without ceasing. I’m not advocating a lifestyle that ignores all hard things and exists in a protective bubble. What I am saying is that, at some point, we need to turn the news off, put down the phone, quiet the divisive and infuriating conversations, and just do good work.
I think that we undermine the impact of small, positive acts. In the face of all that is going on, teatime might seem ridiculously unimportant. Lunch at the park with friends might seem insignificant. Smiling at a fellow shopper over cases of apples might seem silly. But I don’t think they are. In fact, I think they are the key to actually changing the world.
Now, as someone who has never changed the world before, I can’t exactly speak from authority. But I can offer some anecdotal evidence and a bit of a thought experiment, if you’ll entertain me.
I’ve lived most of my life anxiously. Scared. Intimidated. Depressed. And that was on the inside. I also struggled with being on time, with getting tasks down, with holding myself accountable to anything. The only promises I kept were ones I made to other people. If I wanted to accomplish something for me, forget it. Never gonna happen. Once I became a mom, my world got a whole lot brighter (as it does with kids around) but I still struggled with fear. I was constantly worried about what other people thought about me. I had opinions but lacked confidence in communicating them. I couldn’t for the life of me find any kind of rhythm or daily flow that made me feel like I was caring for my family well. I couldn’t manage to keep the house tidy, let alone clean. Laundry was always a losing battle. I was constantly late. I felt like I never stopped moving or working and yet I was constantly behind. I felt like I was drowning.
About four years ago, I started really concentrating on my mental health, specifically my social anxiety. I began to rationalize through situations that made me uncomfortable. I experimented with how to help myself cope when life/the world felt overwhelming. And I made a lot of progress in feeling more confident, assured, and capable.
But the practical aspects of my life were still defeating me. I could not keep up with anything. I had no idea how to juggle all my tasks plus the kids. And since all my time was taken up trying to keep up (and failing, despite my efforts), I had no time to invest in things that I used to love, like reading, playing music, or creating art. In fact, doing any of those “frivolous” things felt like a complete impossibility.
Right after my fourth child was born in early 2023, I discovered Charlotte Mason. And even beyond Charlotte Mason, I discovered a world of people who valued literature, art, music, and poetry on the same level they valued eating nourishing food or getting enough rest. It was a mentality that life is a feast of beautiful things, and that these things feed our bodies, minds, and souls, and that they were all equally important. Of course, as a homeschool philosophy, a lot of these ideas were in regards to my children and the ways I presented the world to them. Miss Mason said that “children are born persons”, and that was a guiding principle for catering an education that did not diminish their abilities, that considered far beyond the facts they could recite, and that grew their moral imagination. However, it challenged me to really think about the words. If children are born persons, what is a person? What does it mean to be a person? What does it look like to treat them as a person? And if I’m a person, too, what does it look like to treat myself as one?
Well, it looks like nourishing my soul. I could give whole speeches on the topic of self care, and how the version culture sells is not the version that actually works, but I won’t. I’ll just say that I started reading. I started listening to the songs of birds. I would take my kids outside and sit with a cup of coffee, my phone silent and alone in the house, and close my eyes and just be. Feel the sun on my face and the breeze in my hair. I started doodling and painting and listening to more beautiful music and reading poetry. All these things I didn’t think I had time for, I made time for, and once I formed habits of beauty, they became more and more second nature. And I began to feel whole, in a way I hadn’t since I was a child.
But you know what didn’t happen? The rest of my life didn’t fall apart. Not anymore than it already was, at least. I didn’t fall more behind on meals or laundry or cleaning because I was reading a book. In fact, it seemed to….dare I say?….make me more efficient than before. I’m not exactly sure why, but I have some guesses. As I became more enthralled with literature and nature, I became less enthralled with my phone, and not having my phone around seriously boosted my productivity (imagine that!). I found ways to infuse lifegiving practices into my life in small, accessible increments, which made life feel more like a treat than a burden. Since my life, in general, felt more restful, I felt like I had more bandwidth for taking care of things, versus always feeling like I was depleted. I also realized the impact that very, very small changes could have. I took supplies outside to chop carrots on the deck, instead of in the house. I kept a book in my toddler’s room to read for five minutes while I nursed her at night, instead of scrolling on my phone. If I was feeling overstimulated or overwhelmed, I’d step out onto the porch for a couple minutes and take some deep breaths.
And slowly, these changes began to build up. I was a more patient mother. Cooking became more of a joy. I was more inclined to constantly work at building better habits, like starting a load of laundry in the morning, or folding a load of laundry in a few spare minutes before dinner. I started being on time. Honestly, this was a goal I never really expected to reach. Yet here I am, usually early to appointments, characterized by arriving at church on time, making sure I have the paperwork done, the drive mapped out, and the diaper bag packed.
Like I said, I really don’t know, exactly, how it connects. It seems really odd that reading books and prioritizing being outside could be a catalyst for such massive change in my habits and my life. And yet, it has. I’ve spent years reading articles and listening to podcasts, trying to zero in on the secret that will help me not be late, or have a good daily schedule, or get up early, and none of it worked. Not long term, anyway. Turns out that creating a life of beauty is a much better incentive to actually participate, willingly and wholeheartedly, in that life.
Ok, cool, you may be thinking. And this has to do with our current political climate how? Reading books may have fixed your day, Nicole, but it can’t fix wars and broken relationships and hurting people.
Or can it?
I’m being a bit facetious; I know it’s not that simple. I’m not trying to trivialize really big, really important problems. But I do think the same principles can apply. The idea of small changes having a big impact does not only work on a personal level. They can work on a household level. And that can spread out to a neighborhood level. And neighborhoods can affect a community; a community can affect a city. You get the idea.
The point is, fixing war overseas, or solving the immigration issue…these aren’t things that you or I can do on our own. And while I think it’s important that we don’t live in a bubble, constantly doomscrolling and reposting memes isn’t *actually* helping anything, either. In fact, wallowing in <insert depressing piece of information here> and allowing that misery to incapacitate you to engage in your life, in the people physically in front of you, in your home and your community and your passions, isn’t helping anything either. I would argue it’s actually unhelpful. Disastrous, even.
Indulge me while I apply the same principles I saw at work in my own life on a larger scale. I’m a stay at home mom, on a very limited income, with a bunch of little kids. There are a lot of hurting people or really noble causes I can’t reach.
But….I can invite some moms in my neighborhood to meet at the park on a Wednesday. I can bring snacks and ask on Nextdoor if anyone has allergies I could accommodate. I can offer to hold a fussy baby for a tired mom, or push her toddler on the swing so she can have a break. I don’t have a surplus of money, but I feel like I have a surplus of joy, and I can share some of that. I can offer encouragement, or a listening ear. I can share the real, tangible, physical love of Jesus in how I treat my neighbors and try to serve them, offering to bring a meal, or leave a note on the door, or a basket of cookies on a birthday.
And maybe, one of those moms has a job that puts her in connection with a broader group of people in our city. Maybe she is run down and worn out and just tries to survive the day. But maybe, having a friend, and feeling like she is valued and seen, makes a bit of difference. Maybe she feels more capable of implementing positive changes at her work. Maybe she has the capacity to organize a little office party, because everything is hard these days.
And maybe some other employee, usually feeling overlooked and overworked, appreciates it. Maybe it gives him courage to approach her with a new idea. Maybe she loves the idea. Maybe he goes home with an extra spring in his step and, instead of feeling defeated, feels lively and takes the kids to the park after dinner. Maybe this gives his wife the chance to soak in a tub and read a book. And maybe her reading inspires her to write a new piece for a publication, a piece that touches the heart of someone who has the kind of resources that could really help people. And maybe he contacts her and they start a non-profit together, giving physical and emotional aid to refugees in their community.
Once again, you get the idea.
I’m not saying that every smile you give a stranger is going to have national implications. Hey, you might even get a glare in return. It happens. But I am saying that feeling immobilized by catastrophe…as understandable as that is…also isn’t productive. I truly believe that each of us has beauty and creativity to offer. And when we share these gifts with others, there is absolutely no circumstance that is too small or too insignificant. They all matter. Loving your spouse well. Loving your kids well. That’s a great place to start. Let them see you sing while you work. Let your eyes sparkle with delight when you spot a hummingbird. Let them see that, while hard and awful things are real, good and beautiful things are real, too. Teach them to fight fear with faith. And as your capacity grows, reach out a little more. Maybe, one day, you will personally make a difference on a global scale. But if the only people’s lives you physically touch are the ones in your household and neighborhood, that’s not any less important. It’s worthy and it will have a ripple effect. We can’t feel so overwhelmed at all there is to fix that we don’t fix anything.
I know what it’s like to feel paralyzed by what I’m seeing around me, and I think a lot of people are feeling that way now. I’m not trying to imply that sadness or frustration isn’t valid. What I am saying is that Destruction wants us to sit back and be afraid. Power wants us immobilized. War wants us divided. Evil wants our eyes to be shadowed to the beauty and wonder before us.
So let’s fight back. Let’s put down the phones and turn off the news. Let’s remember that we can have differences with our neighbors and still love them, and that conversations flow over good food, and that a humble heart is worth its weight in gold. Let’s live out our refusal to succumb to all the sorrow by filling the world with kind words and singing songs and telling stories. Let’s find ways we can serve, however small the opportunity, and focus our energies on that, instead of on sharing memes that will only depress us and further alienate those who don’t agree.
I’ll close with this paragraph from The Two Towers (the movie, not the book), because I can barely read it without crying on my best day, and it feels particularly poignant recently.
Sam: It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened. But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding on to, Sam?
Sam : That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.
