For When Hope is in Shorter Supply

I spent the weekend painting the living room window seat a cooked-salmon-pinky-orange. I’d come across an article in a magazine - those wonderful specimens that can be tricky to find these days - that you could punch up a room by filling a nook with confident, unapologetic colors.

Years ago, I read an interview with Alice Walker where she talked about how Gandhi recommended physical work when one was feeling discouraged, stuck, out of sorts.

Pull crabgrass from the kitchen garden bed. Clean out the broom closet where stuff has been crammed beyond crammed. Donate milk crates of books to the library. Ruthlessly cull a closet for too-rarely-worn clothes to give away.

It’s concrete evidence of our ability to make change, and a wonderfully multi-functional approach to mood improvement: work gets done and confidence gets replenished.

Our country has more than a few loose spreads that if pulled, could unravel the whole thing. I think we’re called to be good stewards of our hope. Or if that word rings hollow for you, good stewards of our belief that the world can be other than what it is right now.

John Lewis spoke about how in the civil rights movement, they didn’t know what would happen, but they knew the world they were working for had to happen. That belief, that knowing, that’s what needs to be protected.

So when we find it hard to keep the faith, perhaps rip out that long-dead rose bush or tackle the kitchen junk drawer. It reminds us that change is possible, that we can have a hand in it.

Democracy is made more whole by those who believe in a future we can’t yet see. One that is more decent and generous, fair and grace-filled than this world we know all too well. Keep the faith; protect the faith. There is no guarantee the world we want will happen, but we know it needs to happen.