Do Our Actions Matter If We Don’t Yet See the Change We Want?
Nearly two years ago, I drove past an assisted living facility. It was one of those raw New England Februarys, not a whisper of sun or warmth.
Outside the facility, a small group of residents was on the sidewalk with walkers and wheelchairs, afghan blankets folded over their laps. And they bobbed homemade signs to the passing traffic: HONK FOR PEACE!
You could barely think so many cars were honking. It was like these residents had reached up behind the February clouds and pulled the sun right down for us.
In 2009, I worked in Congress answering phones that never stopped ringing.
“Hi, this is Senator So-and-So’s office, how can I help you?”
“TELL THAT BONEHEAD SENATOR TO KILL THAT DANGEROUS OBAMA HEALTHCARE BILL.”
“Hi, this is Senator So-and-So’s office, how can I help you?”
“I’VE GOT THE EVIDENCE TO SHOW THAT ELVIS WAS BEHIND THE FENCE ON THE GRASSY KNOLL. WHAT’S THE SENATOR’S PERSONAL EMAIL ADDRESS? I’LL JUST SEND THE INFO OVER TO HIM.”
“Hi, this is Senator So-and-So’s office, how can I help you?”
“Um, yes, hello. I wanted to thank the Senator for being in the good fight. D.C. is a tough place, but we appreciate him.”
What a glass of ice water on a hot, hot summer afternoon. With just a few sentences, the caller reminded me of the quiet mass of decent humans out there.
The other day, I was exceedingly grumpy as I walked into the paint store for a gallon of deck paint and a quart for the bulkhead.
You could probably use this one gallon of paint for both the deck and the bulkhead, the lanky fellow at the register said.
Sounds good, I said. Appreciate it.
Our Labor Day Sale just finished up, he told me.
I could see that; the signs for the sale that ended two days earlier were all over the store.
But you’ve got your work cut out, he tapped the paint can with a wooden stirrer. I’ll scan a discount code for you.
I smiled, thanked him, and walked out the door that was plastered with a sign about the 20% off Labor Day sale that ended two days ago.
I got home, took off my coat, felt the paint store receipt in my pocket. I pulled it out and that lanky fellow had taken nearly 40% off the price of the paint.
I never got to thank the good folks outside the assisted living facility, the woman who appreciated the Senator, the paint store fellow.
That’s a tenderness of our lives: sometimes, there’s no way to let people know how they have enlarged and replenished us. Perhaps to cover my bases, I will tattoo on my forehead for everyone who walks by to see: YOU give me hope.
So if you wonder whether your labors for a better world make any kind of difference as much burns around us, know this:
The arc of history cannot bend towards justice without you. It is an all hands and hearts on deck calling. And I suspect you have answered the call time and again.
There may be no formal thank you from those who have been touched by your work, so consider tomorrow’s sunrise the earth’s handmade thank you note. Or a stranger picking up the keys you dropped in line at the coffee shop as humanity’s way of saying, You got us and we got you.
Every room is different for you being in it. Every protest is larger for you being at it. Every call can be impactful because you are on it. And each action you take could be one that someone you never knew, couldn’t pick out of a lineup, will write about 17 years from now as the thing that redeemed her faith.