Dear friend: how wildly important small things are.

Zero degrees, two pennies & a watering can invitation.

Dear friend,

This morning¹ I woke up to our temperature at zero degrees. For someone who struggles to love winter, this was not a welcome discovery. And I certainly did not celebrate the forecast to match it for this string of days, especially when we’ve already had our little town declare an emergency winter storm last weekend.

But as I’m wrestling with the reality of cold along with the hum of anxiety and heartbreak, I’m struck once again by how wildly important the small things are, when the big things feel loud, daunting and unpleasant. How easily I can become overwhelmed by all that is big and many times, out of my control. Remembering what is mine to do (and consequently, what is not mine to control) is essential work to staying grounded and wholehearted. And when I’m overwhelmed, I often need to start even smaller than usual.

So many of my days in this season feel filled with small things, so this reminder for my heart isn’t just one I need in winter, or in this political climate, or as I’m holding both personal and collective grief. It is for every day that my gaze is drawn to all that clamors for my attention, but is outside of my lane. It is for every day, which is often, that the work I’m doing feels much too small to make a difference. Of course, I would never declare that to myself, but that familiar discouraged slump of my heart knows the narrative of scarcity.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the precious story tucked into Mark 12 of just a few verses: the widow giving her two coins. Scripture tells us there were amounts given that went well beyond her offering, as the wealthy also gave their gifts that day. Yet, the abundance that Jesus notices isn’t found in the amount she gave. What she gave is compared to pennies, almost too small an amount to feel like it should be mentioned, let alone matter. Her two coins were all she had, and she choose to give it. Her generosity in contrast with her true poverty, and also the large gifts of those who had far more, stops me in my tracks.

She had every reason to hold tight to what was hers, to talk herself out of giving. She had so little. What difference could she make with her money, with such a small amount? Yet, her generous heart that trusted that the scarcity that was in front of her was not the truest story. She chose to participate in a story of abundance and hope and trust. I want to be more like her. She brought what she had and trusted that the God of abundance would make it enough, like the boy who gave his small lunch only to have it multiplied to feed thousands. Kingdom math is truly abundant.

I’ve been really enjoying treating collage as a prayer practice, after learning this a few summers ago from Kris Camealy (ps. she’s leading us through this practice monthly as part of The Presence Project’s Table of the Beloved, if this sounds like something you’d like to participate in. The next one is this Sunday evening.) I try to come into that time without an agenda, asking the Lord to lead me to images, colors and words as I flip through discarded magazines. Sometimes I’m coming with a question or prompt, and sometimes not. I was surprised by this one that I worked on this week, on a night that felt particularly gray and full of grief.

Pinks and purples were what I felt drawn to, which is rarely the case. The words and images felt far more hopeful than I felt in that moment, which also surprised me. And the image of the watering can felt like a precious invitation to my heart: an invitation to do what I can with my limited capacity. A watering can only is able to pour out a small amount at a time, whether through one spout or smaller holes. It does run dry, and only has so much to offer before it needs to be refilled. But it does a world of good to the plants it pours out onto, bringing life and goodness to what would otherwise be dry and lifeless. I don’t have to be limitless to do good. I can trust that my offering can bring life and goodness when I choose to pour out. I can bring what I have, trusting the God of abundance to make it enough somehow.

I resisted the words, “the best is yet to come” because they feel almost too joyful, too vibrant for my heart these days, in addition to being so large on the page. Couldn’t the words I was resisting be smaller? Yet, I’m paying attention to what I’m resisting, just as much as I’m trying to pay attention to what I’m drawn to. This phrase definitely belonged, even if I didn’t want it there. Even here, I’m hearing the invitation to hope, to believe that redemption and goodness, and life abundant is the truest story. And I’m invited to be part of that with my small watering can.

The blackout poem also felt like the Lord seeing both the grief and pain of this season, right along with the invitation to trust his story of abundance. This image of seeds, such a small offering, and the new life they bring with them feels full of hope for my heart.

seeds lay dormant

for years

this was not unexpected

obliterated roads are initially cursed

restoration: “it’s one of our primary issues”

death warped the land

scars can also be signs of healing.

subtle signs of regeneration

right where you’d expect it

wind, heavy with seeds

come back and you might find

a new forest.

So many of my small things in this season feel almost too small to mention. But these are some of my pennies that I’m offering up, the things that are only mine to do. This is part of what stepping away from scarcity and into abundance looks like for me these days, trusting that these things are not too small to matter. Kingdom math can turn these into enough somehow.

• Sending a text to a friend.

• Making hot chocolate for kids after playing in the snow.

• Changing diapers.

• Meal planning and grocery shopping.

• Praying for those who are suffering or someone I love when they come to mind.

• Making appointments for the dentist.

• Writing a thank-you card to our pediatrician before he retires.

• Tucking my phone out of sight to be more present.

• Donating a few dollars to someone hurting.

• Reading to my kids.²

• Making dinner.

• Sorting our clean laundry.

• Bathing a tiny girl.

• Choosing not to be annoyed at the interruption after bedtime to do a breath prayer with my child.

• Moving my body, whether with a walk or some living room cardio.

• Making imperfect, happy art.

• Reading for myself.³

• Snuggling.

• Asking my kids & husband about their day and really listening.

• (and last, but certainly not least) Writing to you, pressing through the steady stream of interruptions to show up here.

I’m sure you have your own list like this, with your own specifics in this season. Whatever your list may hold, I pray that you’re reminded of how wildly important your small things are and trust that even here, you can participate in the story of abundance.

Dear friend, thank you for being with me. I'd truly love to hear from you. Feel free to just hit "reply" to this email. I read and savor every email that comes my way, even if I don’t always have the space to respond (which is often these days, but I’m trying!) I’d be so glad to know what small, wildly important things you’re up to or if my words brought up anything to the surface of your heart today.

Warmly,

Alison

PS. I’m so glad to write you this letter for free. It is a joy to do so. It is such a gift for you to be here, and I don’t need more thanks than that. But if you find my words helpful and would like to support me even more, here are a few ways to do so:

• Buy me a coffee.

• Forward this letter to a friend or invite them to sign up to get their own Dear Friend letter here.

• Book me for an Enneagram coaching session.

• Stay tuned for another Dear Friend letter soon!

1. “This morning” ended up being several mornings ago, Wednesday to be precise, but many interruptions in this season and writing in tiny pockets of time meant you’re getting this several days later. Thanks for understanding.

2. Our current read-aloud is A Wish in the Dark, a middle grade reader that’s a loose adaptation on Les Misérables, infused with magic and Thai culture. We’re all hooked so far.

3. Some of my recent books have been Hello Beautiful, The Frozen River, Emma, The Courting of Bristol Keats, The Third Gilmore Girl & I’m slowly making my way through Even After Everything.