A Strong and Gracious Path Forward

I was speaking to a friend the other morning who said, “You know these tariffs are breeding terrible financial insecurity across so many industries and in so many homes, don’t you? You know, don’t you, that the U.S. position on Ukraine is breeding isolationism? That the suspension of U.S. aid is going to cost children their lives and alter the image of the U.S. around the world? You know, don’t you, that our press is under duress and our image, our identity, is unraveling before our very eyes? It’s a disaster!”

“Well then,” I said to him—and to myself—“what is one to do in the face of all of that?!”

What are we to do? Take to the streets? Take to social media and jump into a word brawl? Call or email our representatives?

Refuse to buy a Tesla? Boycott Target? Scream at our neighbors who think what’s happening before our very eyes is exactly what should be happening? All of the above? None of the above?

“I don’t know,” my friend said, “but we have to do something. It’s probably best to focus on our local communities. That’s where we can make a difference. Don’t you think?”

When in doubt, I try to get quiet. I try to take my own counsel. I try to turn down the noise—the noise of friends who are beside themselves, the noise of news commentators who rile us up, the noise of those who say, Yeah! Let’s go! Let’s fight!

Instead I turn to those I know who are smart, calm, and have no skin in the game, like American historian Heather Cox Richardson. She lays out what’s happening and how we got here with a steady hand and a brilliant mind.

I also go to church. Church always settles me. I’m lucky to be part of a parish that feels like a home away from home. I love my pastor and his sermons, and I love the people I see there every Sunday—it’s a sea of humanity. Every race, every age, every background, all in community. I love the music. It moves me. And I love that I have a place I can count on like that.

Whenever I’m in my church, my mind settles—and then it wanders. I often have surreal experiences in the back of the church, where I usually hang out. It’s true, I do.

In the past, I’ve felt my mother’s presence. I’ve heard her clear guidance on things I was struggling with. The title for my new book came to me in church. The tagline for this publication came to me there as well.

The list goes on.

Believe it or not, this past Sunday, I had what felt like a real connection and conversation with Jesus Christ. Yes, I did.

Now, I know that might sound weird and unusual—because, well, it was. But I think it’s worth sharing.

I had my eyes closed, I was praying, and lo and behold, I had a clear vision. Jesus sat down on a bench next to me and said, “You know, I too was scared of the unknown. I too was afraid. I often felt insecure, unsure of what I was doing. It’s okay to feel this way. Just stay your course.”

That was it. Then just like that, the vision dissolved.

Believe it or not, I’d never thought of Jesus as a scared human being, much less an insecure or unsure one, in my entire life.

And I’ve been going to church for decades and decades.

Most of the time, I rarely even think of him as a human being with human challenges, much less insecurities. Isn’t that short-sighted?

All day, I marveled at the thought that Jesus might have felt insecure and unsure of himself at times—that his path felt scary to him. That’s wild, I thought to myself.

But then I also thought—of course. Why wouldn’t he have felt doubt? He was human.

He too had to struggle with his faith. He too had to struggle with his calling. He too felt uncertain at times about his path forward.

I share this because I think so many of us find ourselves feeling like this at times. Unsure. Uncertain. Scared. Insecure.

So many of us feel anxious about the upheavals coming out of Washington, D.C. So many of us don’t recognize our foreign policy. So many of us feel isolated and unsure.

In fact, the other day, I went to the doctor and she walked in, shut the door behind her, and said, “I didn’t want anyone coming in here with me because I wanted—needed—to vent to you first. What is going on with our country? Please tell me it’s going to be okay.”

I said to her what I’ll say to you: When the ground shifts, I’ve found the best thing to do is to be of service. Go where the light is.

Go where the love is. Go where the people who are doing beautiful things are.

And guess what? They are everywhere. Yes, they are. They are in houses of worship. They are volunteering at hospitals. They are running soup kitchens. They are working in schools. They are coaching kids—and coaching adults. They are writing books and touring the country to share the lessons from the frontlines of their lives.

So many of you here write to me every week about your purpose, your life’s work, and how it motivates you. You are the healers. The uniters. The artists. The architects of change among us. Just writing that makes me smile.

Speaking of architects of change—this past week, I went to Natural Products Expo West, one of the largest natural foods expos in the country. Thousands and thousands of people of all ages gathered to talk about healthy food. These people are trying to make healthy products because they have seen chronic disease up close and believe that they can make food better, products better.

MOSH had a big booth at Expo West, and I can’t tell you how inspiring it was to talk to so many founders about the why of their mission—the desire they have to make better food for children and for aging people. So many of them have been impacted by chronic disease in their own families, and they want to change how we eat and what we have available to eat. Just like Patrick and I want to do with MOSH.

These individuals’ passion, joy, and resilience inspired me and gave me hope.

After Expo West, off I went to the Special Olympics World Winter Games in Italy. If I’m ever in doubt or feeling down, I know church and Special Olympics will raise me up. Special Olympics manages to gather people from all over the world.

I think I shared with many of you when I went to Berlin two years ago, and I’m so happy to be able to share again here.

Special Olympics started in my backyard.

I share that because so many people think what they’re doing is small and doesn’t make a difference.

Special Olympics started small—and it just grew. Because people came together.

Because they stayed at it. Because they persevered. Lives were changed. And lives continue to be changed—for those who participate, for their families, for those who are of service as well.

Second Lady Usha Vance decided to come to the Special Olympics World Games in Italy as well. She brought her son because together they wanted to witness the spirit that’s alive here that I’ve been talking about. I hope to get time with her to ask her how her trip impacted her. Even if I don't get the chance, I know she will feel the power of the movement and the inspiration all around it. It’s impossible not to feel it.

So in times of uncertainty and confusion, go where the love is. Go where the light is.

Immerse yourself with those who are serving.

There must be a strong and gracious path forward for all of us. I’ve got to believe this.

And to all of you who are already moving yourselves and humanity forward—thank you for staying the course and for pushing through your doubts and your insecurities.

A guy in church told me to tell you that—and to pass it on.