There’s a lot that’s not helpful floating around my social media feeds, but not too long ago, Roseanne Cash just about reached through the screen and preached straight into my heart.
First of all, don’t you love it when Jane Austen and Roseanne Cash are talking with each other?
And here we all are: half agony, half hope. The news overwhelms, whether local or global, and the to-do lists are long even though we’re supposed to be in “summer mode,” and our personal stories are as scrambled as ever, but who has time to listen to us about it when their lives are mired and mucky too? One huge, intractable problem surfaces in the headlines, only to be pushed aside by another huge, intractable problem a few hours later. And also, it’s just so hot.
Still, the hydrangea needs to be trimmed, and I’ve got to get to the grocery store (you probably do too, sorry to say). There’s a part of me that berates myself for focusing on the mundane, daily chores when there’s so much big, “important” work I ought to be doing. Yet, I’ve been listening to a lot of wise people recently, from pop theologian Kate Bowler to authoritarianism expert Masha Gessen, who offer strikingly similar counsel: do the work you always do, be consistent about your values, keep showing up, and look out for beauty. And now Roseanne Cash and Jane Austen are joining the chorus to say, “yes, it’s like this,” and maybe, actually, it’s always been like this (though the AI stuff does feel new and next-level). I know from time spent deep in the biblical narrative that everyone has pretty much always thought they are living in the end times, and that everyone also kept tilling their fields and writing poetry and sending encouraging letters.
This approach isn’t the same thing as burying our heads in the sand. Tending to our households, being a little kinder to the people in line at the grocery store, reading a real book, or going to see some art: these are all ways that we maintain and even insist upon our humanity. There’s something quietly powerful and grace-full about sustaining and caring for our little corners of the kingdom. And may I also suggest: showing up for church to sing and to say our beautiful, convoluted prayers and to listen to these ancient and wholly relevant stories about how faithful people have looked around at a bewildering world and found the light and a path forward.
The added benefit of gathering is to remember that you and I are not alone, we belong to a community here at Second and Adams, and a much larger community that spans geography and generations – all of us, including, apparently, Roseanne Cash and Jane Austen, who are ready to be honest about the agony and hold on tight to the hope.
I’ve said it here before, it’s a lot. Let’s do the next right thing, and find our people and a little beauty.
Lovely, Katherine, just lovely and SO needed now and as you pointed out, always.
Thanks for reading, Peggy, glad to be in this community with you!
This was the perfect thing for me to read today. Thank you for writing. Everything does seem so big and foreboding, and it is so hot.. but our lives (and hydrangeas) still need tending.
Thanks for reading and for tending to your life and many more around you!
Certainly glad Katherine Bush’s blog showed up in all of my emails today. Much needed reminders, when it is just so hot and there is so much.
Thanks for reading, dear one, you are certainly tending to your corner!
Katherine, thank you. Both of the this household’s members read and appreciated your reflection.
I have a slightly different take on Jane Austen’s wisdom. I think of the tension between agony and hope as just that: AND. Or both-and. Both agony and hope. Some days one’s a whole lot bigger than the other. Holding them in creative tension, no matter the percentages, is the task.
Oh, I didn’t mean to imply anything other than that both are very, very true. Absolutely
I will be framing this one to read regularly. Such a gift that you’ve shared here Katherine 🙂
Much love,
Ashley
There’s always a lot to care of right at home, isn’t there!?! Sending love and thanks for reading!
I love this reflection. It is so spot on. Roseanne Cash and Jane Austen remind me of your own wonderful blessing at the end of the service- “Wonnderful and terrible things will happen. Do not be afraid.” I hope that is fairly accurate. Fear can make us ignore the most important things in our lives, both mundane and cosmic.
Thanks, Christine, there’s so much truth in holding the type things together. And not letting fear have the last word.
I’ve been bummed about my procedure being postponed for two months, and the state of our country. There is a darkness to them both. They’ve been niggling at me more than I realized. This morning I sat in a different seat at the kitchen table—a different view, so to speak—from my usual one, awful-izing my next couple of months and the latest cruelty which seems so in vogue lately, when I looked up. There on the wall was one of my favorite little pieces of art framed in an arc of white orchids. (A photo is on Facebook if you’re curious.) The beauty of it ripped me from darkness into light.
And now your blog. Reminding us to do what we can: find beauty in the midst of chaos. Cherish our community and the times we sit together. See the stranger as a neighbor not yet met, even when the terrible rages about us.
Thank you. It’s a beautiful day.
Thanks for your generous response, Bill, and I saw the beautiful orchid blooms. Love the idea that a different chair in the kitchen can bring a whole different perspective.
Katherine, you do have The Gift. I like to remind myself that even the most mundane of tasks (grocery shopping, pruning azaleas) are God’s work. Thank you for this lovely little piece.