Do not become weary

On feeling helpless and doing good

This weekend, my family and I were in Missouri for a hockey tournament. We stayed at a great little VRBO in St. Charles and fell in love with the waterfront neighborhood of the Frenchtown Historic District. One night, coming home late from a game, my husband and I offered to walk the three blocks from our rental house to a small brewery where we could grab pizzas for our hungry kids (shout out to Good News Brewing Company—highly recommended). Sadly, the restaurant was closed, so we headed back in defeat. We didn’t make it far.

On the dark, abandoned sidewalk, we noticed an older woman shuffling toward us. She was wearing an oversized wool coat and had a stuffed grocery bag slung over her shoulder. A dirty blanket was balled up and clutched tightly to her chest. She was obviously experiencing homelessness. “Can you help me?” she asked as we drew near. “I need help.”

For nearly an hour we attempted to find a safe place for Sharon to spend the night. She was cold, scared, and disoriented. After calling every homeless shelter we could find online (and discovering most of their websites badly outdated or their numbers no longer in service), we rounded a corner and stumbled across the tiny church that she had been looking for all along. We called the pastor (whose name and number was listed on the sign out front), and after receiving permission to do so, Sharon hunkered down on the church steps for the night. My husband and I left her with a prayer and all the cash we had between us. It wasn’t much. We drove away in stunned silence, burdened by a single shared and overwhelming feeling: helplessness.

There’s a lot to unpack in our chance meeting with Sharon, but she’s not the focus of this particular reflection. Instead, I want to sit with that feeling, that stomach-churning, heart-squeezing, empty-handed sense of our own inability to do something—anything!—that would make even the smallest difference against the staggering injustices of the world.

Last week, I shared my thoughts about Canada becoming the 51st state, and the response was unexpected. People left comments and forwarded the article and became subscribers, but what really surprised me was the private feedback that came via text, email, and in person. At first, when my phone would ping with a notification from someone I don’t routinely correspond with, I shriveled a little inside. Understandably so—I live in one of reddest pockets of one of the reddest states, and to even question the Trump administration is social suicide. Every time I squeezed one eye shut and nervously scanned a new message I wondered: Is this the moment the fragile threads of our small social network begin to fray completely?

But instead of lambasting me, the majority of the comments I received sounded a lot like this: “Thank you for speaking up. I feel the same way but I don’t know what to do.” Some people straight up named it:

“I just feel so helpless.”

I’ve had to really interrogate that personal sense of helplessness this week because it does not come from inactivity. I am doing something. Lots of things, actually. I call my house rep and senators every single day, try to be informed, write articles, have conversations, and stay active in my community. I’m sure some would consider my efforts paltry while others are working up the courage to move beyond paralysis. (And if you’re still wondering what to do, check out Brave and Kind or Democracy is Crumbling. Is Anybody Doing Anything?) People’s opinions notwithstanding, I am doing what I can when I can while trying to continue to provide a safe, stable, and happy home for my children, edit my upcoming book, and live a healthy and abundant life. So why does the helplessness persist?

Because nothing has changed. In fact, it’s getting worse.

• The new budget resolution which passed just last night gives $4.5 trillion in tax cuts to the wealthy, but could gut Medicaid, a program that directly affects some of the most vulnerable people in the US. “…the House Energy and Commerce Committee would have to find this money [$880 billion in cuts], out of Medicaid, Medicare and the Children's Health Insurance Program.” (Did Medicaid Get Cut? Newsweek)

• On Monday, the US split with our allies and joined Russia in voting against a European-backed resolution that demanded an immediate withdrawal of Russian troops from Ukraine. (US refuses to blame Russia for Ukraine war, AP)

• The White House just announced that it will take control of which news outlets have access to Trump, a move that at best undermines the independence of a free press and at worst paves the way for state controlled media. (White House takes control of the press pool covering Trump, Reuters)

• Thousands of federal employees have been laid off affecting the Department of Veterans Affairs, the Defense Department, the Agriculture Department, and the National Parks, just to name a few. This unceremonious gutting of our federal agencies doesn’t just cause suffering on a personal and community level, it sows chaos and confusion, and compromises essential services all across the country. (A comprehensive look at DOGE’s firings and layoffs, AP)

I can’t go on. But I could. And that makes me wonder if my efforts are meaningless and if I can really make a difference at all. I couldn’t help Sharon in any substantial, life-changing way (though I longed to!), and I cannot single-handedly convince our current government to have the integrity to stand with Ukraine or reverse any of the lawless and cruel actions that have undermined our democracy and caused real harm in the last several weeks. It’s wrenching.

And yet.

The moment we believe that we are helpless, we have abdicated our own power and influence. Here’s the truth: WE ARE NOT HELPLESS. We have a voice. We have gifts that can be used and connections that will prove fortuitous. We can have a significant impact on the world around us. And there are people in our lives who are waiting and eager to link arms with us.

Alone, we are one tiny drop. Together, we are the sea.

It’s spring in Iowa (or at least, it feels like it) and my seed packets are ordered. As a self-taught and fledgling gardener, I know that the coming weeks will be worrisome and full of setbacks. I’ll have seeds that don’t sprout or that burst from the soil only to wither or rot. Some will be lush and healthy under the sunlamp but struggle when transplanted outside. As the months go by, I’ll battle rabbits, bugs, and the neighbor’s dog, and some of my carefully tended plants will refuse to flower. In short, I will sow seeds and simply hope that they bloom. Yes, I’ll water and weed, fertilize and prune, but at the end of the day, much of the work isn’t mine to do. I cannot control the sun or the rain, but I can do my part. And I will.

I’m sure you get the metaphor.

Today, I am heartened at the thought that I’m scattering seeds. The forty bucks we gave Sharon didn’t immediately change her life, but we listened to her story and looked into her eyes. I hope she felt seen and heard, and I pray she gets the help she needs. And my phone calls to Randy Feenstra, Joni Ernst, and Chuck Grassley aren’t going to instantly reverse our foreign policy, but I hope that every time I beg them to act with integrity and courage it chips away at their consciences and is a tiny genesis of compassion and understanding. Change is going to take fierce, unswerving commitment and lots and lots of time.

You may feel helpless, my friends, but you are not. Never tire of doing good. Of cultivating beauty, spreading kindness, and encouraging others to do the same. Advocate for the hurting. Speak truth to power. Fight racism. Be love incarnate. Then rinse and repeat. We’re in it for the long haul.

Thanks for reading. xoxo - Nicole

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