Finding Strength in Quiet Moments

Sometimes, I think about what holds us upright when the world feels like it’s tilting on its axis. It isn't always bravery, you know. Bravery is a flash of lightning – important, yes, but fleeting. What lasts longer, what truly anchors a soul, seems to be something quieter: the steady ember of hope. I saw that clearly last week at the luncheon. A dear friend, Martha, has been dealing with...well, let's just say it’s a difficult diagnosis. She didn't dwell on the details, she rarely does, but her smile…that was remarkable. Not a pasted-on, brave face sort of smile, but something that lit up from within, radiating peace.

It made me think about Marcus and his family in Brooklyn. They needed me there, not for anything grand or heroic, just to be *there*. He’s got three young ones now, bustling around, each a little whirlwind of energy. I missed those whirlwinds terribly when my own children were small. And it struck me then, driving down the New Jersey Turnpike, that sometimes, simply offering your presence – a quiet hand to hold, a listening ear - can be more powerful than any pronouncements of reassurance. It is believing in something better, even when things are hard, and allowing yourself to feel that belief deeply.

I've always been one for lists, you know. A list for groceries, a list for errands, a list for the garden. I used to make endless lists at school—lesson plans, student assessments, parent conference schedules. Now, my lists are simpler: volunteer shifts at the food pantry, books to read, calls to be made. It's a comfort, that orderliness, especially when there’s so little control over what happens *to* us. But I learned in Brooklyn, watching those children and helping at Fulton Street, that sometimes you have to put aside the lists, embrace the chaos, and just *be*. Be present.

There's a tendency, I think, to look for grand explanations when facing hardship - a cosmic reason or divine intervention. And perhaps there are times when such things exist. But more often, it’s about finding small pockets of meaning in the everyday. It's about noticing the sunlight through the kitchen window, appreciating a kind word from a stranger, savoring the taste of a perfectly ripe peach. These seemingly insignificant moments can accumulate, creating a foundation of resilience that supports us when the storms rage. Jerry always said I was an optimist; I suppose he’s right, in my own way.

I remember once, during a particularly difficult time years ago, a young colleague confided in me about her struggles with a sick child. She felt lost and overwhelmed. And I told her – though it wasn't something profound, just a simple observation—that sometimes, the need to *believe* is more important than knowing why. That holding onto that belief doesn’t mean ignoring reality; rather, it allows you to face reality with strength and grace. It isn’t denial; it’s choosing where you direct your energy.

It's fascinating how our minds work – how we shape narratives around events, searching for patterns and meaning even when there are none. We crave certainty, a sense of order in a world that often defies logic. But sometimes, the very act of *searching* can become a distraction. It can pull us away from the present moment, from the small acts of kindness and connection that truly sustain us. The need to understand everything can be exhausting and ultimately unfulfilling.

My time volunteering at the food pantry has been a quiet blessing. Seeing families struggling, hearing their stories… it puts things in perspective. It reminds me that even in the darkest of times, there is still generosity, compassion, and hope. And those are things worth holding onto with every ounce of strength we have. There’s something almost sacred about handing out bags of groceries, knowing you're easing a burden, however small.

I thought about all this sitting at my kitchen table Monday morning, drinking coffee, after Brooklyn. It seemed suddenly obvious - the move, the volunteering, even making that list. Perhaps it isn’t always grand gestures that matter. Perhaps it is simply showing up, offering what we have, and choosing to believe in a better tomorrow, one small kindness at a time. That's enough, really. More than enough.