When Everything is on Fire
I’ve been trying to sit down and write for weeks now — to put words together and make sense of what is happening around and within me. But making sense of things feels impossible these days. Words are what I use to meander towards a perspective of some sorts, but with the world seemingly going to hell in a handbasket, perspective feels hard to come by.
I’ve been attempting to assemble a call for us to return to collective humanity — remembering love of neighbor, God, and self. But asking the world out there to remember our shared humanity seems naively optimistic the moment I read a headline. My voice is but a shout into the void. And frankly, I’m becoming numb to the bad news flying at me too quickly to process.
What do we do when everything feels too big to handle? Honestly, I’m not sure. But I know I have to carve out space to acknowledge my own humanity before I can remember anyone else’s. As a devout introvert, this looks like occasionally asking my husband to take the kids and leave the house for an hour or two, so I can dial back on sensory overload and find still moments to take a hot shower, do 10–15 minutes of gentle yoga, pray, and read a delightful novel.
I also have to hold tight to the fraying thread of my dogged belief that the small things matter. Texting my friend who is going through a nasty custody battle and reminding her I’m in her corner (and potentially offering to commit crimes on her behalf). Standing on the sidewalk, chatting with the neighbors, remembering to ask one of them how his dad is doing after a scary health situation. Pulling my babies into my lap and reading Llama Llama for the one millionth time. Writing my representative and begging them to do something to protect our children sitting in classrooms (and voting accordingly). Baking banana bread to have for breakfast. Buying a farm share so we can eat local produce and support an organization that pays their people a fair wage. Trying to explain God to my three year old. Throwing an absurdly tacky Frozen themed birthday party for my daughter to delight in. Choosing something every day to be grateful for.
Each of these things alone are tiny. But I have to believe if we all string our tiny things together, something good will come of it. If each of us finds a way to push back the darkness in our own way, we just might catch glimmers of light. I wish there were more words I could say that felt sincere, yet I’ve never been one to blow smoke or say something I don’t fully mean. So my only miniscule call to hope for us is that we can each find a small thing and cling to it for dear life. May you catch a glimmer of someone else’s light today.
