Small and Simple Stories of Support
People who know how to lift up others without losing themselves in the process understand sustainability. They naturally draw upon what I think of as boundaried empathy. Let’s face it, our reserves are low and a lot of us are feeling tapped out. I am. These last few years have been a bit of a slog. Yet, I notice there are still those who are able to give with thought and intention while accounting for their own deeply held limitations, then teach from that example. I pay close attention to them.
This year Lydia would drape tiny white lights along the deck railing. And hang the three artificial wreaths with ruby red ribbons she bought at the after-Christmas sale last year on her front windows. Where did she put them? Peter had been gone nearly four years. It was time for light, relief, a welcoming of spirit.
Mary darted through the fabric room at the quilt shop with purpose gathering a vibrant stack of both vivid and muted cotton. Too many to carry, she lay her collection on the cutting table as she parsed through shelves, plucking a bolt from here and there to add to the pile until satisfied she had found precisely what she needed.
In May I planted sunflower seeds late in the growing season. They sprouted quickly. I protected my seeds from predators which seemed to help. I covered the oval plot with netting, thwarting the birds and rabbits, after pushing the tiny, black ovals into enriched topsoil laid over layers of existing Michigan clay. The seeds took root and became plantlings. I shifted the netting from the top to the perimeter because the needs of the sunflower population changed.
This is called being responsive.
The man who built our home cut corners with precision. Not the actual joints of the building, rather, he skimped on materials and labor and did just enough to prevent all the imperfections from being revealed during a home inspection while simultaneously fooling unsuspecting buyers. They say the best teacher is your last mistake.
