This is Part 4 of a post that has covered four weeks. How do we make a difference in the world? How do we participate in the political process? What does that question have to do with Foolish Church? Take a look back at the earlier weeks for how advocacy starts personal, how it’s rooted in relationship, and the basics of entering into this work.
It must be said that trying to change things can be exhausting.
There is always so much going on, so many people trying to enlist your help. In my news feed and e-mails over the past week, I’ve been invited to
--advocacy days on mental health, hunger, and criminal justice reform
--public demonstrations on legislative issues, immigration reform and climate change
--a class, a training session, and a symposium on racial justice
--"click-and-go" advocacy around impeachment, the president's State of the Union address, and more
--opportunities to buy t-shirts to support various causes
--support of various nonprofits with donations
It’s tiring just getting through the messages, let alone showing up and joining in these efforts.
Then there’s the fatigue of making that pitch again, to an elected official who sees the issue differently. Or to the one who already agrees with you, but isn’t in the majority so they can’t get to the result you’re both after. And the last-minute request to show up at the recently scheduled subcommittee meeting, where you probably won’t get a chance to speak anyway.
If all this sounds exhausting, you’re right; it is.
If you’re among those who keep showing up, week after week, to do this heavy and important work, across a spectrum of needs, I am grateful to you. You inspire me.
We’ll each have to find a rhythm to the work of advocacy. We might care about a lot of things, but we can’t be everywhere; we can’t do everything. Many of us will realize we need to pick the one or two things that are going to be our things. We’ll learn a lot about those subjects, and begin to build relationships with the people engaged in that work. We might care about a much broader range of issues, and participate in them from time to time. But—in my experience, at least—we have to give ourselves permission not to change the whole world, all at once.
And we’ll have to find room for rest. We may be absolutely committed to a change that is so clearly needed. But it may not happen. We don’t have to stop trying, but we do have to find ways to be well anyway. Our wellness cannot depend on whether the legislation passes.
What will rest look like for you? Planting seeds in thick black soil, or painting with beautiful colors, or playing some Beethoven, or reading a Mary Oliver poem, or holding an infant: I hope each of us can find some practices that renew us for this work of advocacy and, indeed, for all that is in our lives.
Along the way, we will make a difference in some of the ways we hoped. We will inspire some others with our care and our tenacity. And we’ll keep showing up in all the places in our lives, I hope, with a groundedness that allows us to be well in the world, and with others, and within ourselves.
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