By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
One topic kept coming back to my mind this week, no matter how many distractions tried to dissuade me. Sure, there were all the nature moments that tug at my heartstrings and make me want to write. There was the smoke rising off distant pastureland, reminding me of my beloved mountains, tempting my mind to wander. There was a vicious thunderstorm with lightning that didn’t rumble but crackled—sounding very literally like the exploding air that it was. I knew I could write about those things, but one subject kept pushing everything else aside: encouragement.
If I’m honest, I dismissed it many times at first. But it kept returning, and then I began to hear others saying similar things. That’s when I thought, maybe—just maybe—I needed to listen.
Speaking of needing encouragement, my husband enjoys watching the news. He didn’t used to, but in the last couple of years he has taken up the pastime. Perhaps as we’re getting older, he’s decided to embrace the very grown-up idea of keeping up with world events. While I agree it’s important to know what’s happening, I’m not a fan of this method. Mostly because there’s no real “news” anymore—at least not the kind where events are simply reported as facts. That seems to be gone. These days, what’s called news is more like a faint hint of something that maybe happened, smothered in opinion and bravado—much like the way my daughter likes her cake buried in buttercream. There might be substance under there, but you’ll have to dig for it, and you might become utterly overwhelmed by the effort before you ever reach it. Unlike news, though, digging through buttercream for cake is always inspirational.
Of course, it isn’t only the news that’s discouraging. Social media can be just as heavy, not to mention society in general. But I recently heard a wise analogy that struck me. The story told of two birds flying over a desert: a hummingbird and a vulture (or “buzzard,” as we call them around here). The hummingbird searched for life and color—and she found it. The vulture searched for death and decay—and he found it. The lesson is simple: in life, we find what we are looking for.
It may sound simplistic, maybe even trite, but it hit me square between the eyes with unexpected force. I realized that instead of focusing on discouragement and then scrambling to seek encouragement, perhaps I need to shift my attention altogether. Of course, I have happy moments—and even those in dark places may find the occasional bright spot. But how often (and I’m preaching to myself here, though I suspect others may nod along) do I let a nagging voice in the back of my mind immediately snuff out those sparks?
It doesn’t even have to be a big occasion. It could be a simple, pleasant day where the traffic wasn’t too bad or my coffee stayed hot longer than usual. Then, suddenly, that whisper intrudes: reminding me of an upcoming expense, the friend who didn’t respond to my text the way I hoped, or that dish I cooked last week that wasn’t the hit I’d imagined. And the list can spiral from the trivial to the truly life-altering—each thought sneaking in to rob me of joy.
I must admit, I’m one of the guiltiest. I’m a professional worrier—so much so that if I find myself at peace, I start to worry that I’ve forgotten something I should be worrying about. Ridiculous, I know. And so, I think it’s time I told my ridiculous brain a few things. First, it needs to be reminded just how ridiculous it’s being. Second, it needs to remember that we find what we look for. If I look for reasons to fret, I’ll find them. But if I choose—and said choice will certainly require effort—to look for things that uplift and inspire, I’ll find those instead.
Life will have its storms, as it always does. But storms end, and the sun returns. I’m challenging myself here and now to hold onto that truth—not just for myself, but so I can encourage others too. Nights can be long, but mornings always come. And if we sit in the shadows, bemoaning the darkness, we may be resigned to miss the hopeful glow of dawn.
Prose and Possibilities 