My feed these days is filled with fear. Articles released seconds before are already reposted, articles weeks old are still being shared, opinions are voiced loudly, in a way I feel like they are screaming at me. Every human I know is scared. I start shaking after just a few minutes of intaking it all. The words I collect as my thumb scrolls by pierce all the way into my marrow. Some days I shut it all out and I feel a little bit better. But right now, in the middle of all of this, sitting in our home, aching for relationships, I am drawn back.
Because I see the bread. Loaves of golden bread in a neat little row, reminding me of a different era. At first I feel a prick of jealousy. I haven’t showered in days , my children are acting like wild animals. No one will be stopping by, so I leave the dishes in the sink and they spill out onto my counters. There is no bread on my counters.
But that photo reaches into my heart and grips it. This bread is not just something yummy to eat because all the shelves are bare. This isn’t a brag. This is a victory flag in a time of change and unrest. My jealousy melts away and suddenly, this person’s joy becomes mine…becomes ours.
From the lord of the flies situation in my home, I could easily look at the craft makers, the bread bakers, the cheerfully posed picture takers and I could just die a little bit inside with an ache that longs to be more like them. But when I stop comparing and start celebrating, everything takes on a new glow. Not only am I surrounded by beauty but I feel the collective hand grasps across the globe…a whispered “We’ve got this.”
It’s the little squares that show:
A mess of paints and eager hands.
The shadow a daffodil makes in the morning sun.
Love through the smudged window.
A makeshift homeschool space with beauty woven through it.
The music people are sharing, freely, purely.
The poetry being written…and read.
Every tiny part of nature being reborn right now. The buds, the blooms, the green shoots that we are holding our breath to find out what they are.
Hands held.
Trees scaled.
Picnics with grandmother’s china on the floor.
Crafts made out of the recycling bin.
Yoga with a neighbor across the street.
Breathless game nights.
A good book and a worn spot on the couch.
A brisk walk.
Countless meals using the cans from the back of the pantry.
Grocery bags by the front door of someone who needs them.
Laughter.
Togetherness.
Resilience.
Because jobs will still be lost, people will still get sick, mental health will still falter but choosing to see and share joy can be the difference in survival.
So break out the camera. Post away the moments you hold dear. Stitch them together like victory flags.
