Finding Your Power

There are times when the world feels too heavy to hold.

Lately, like many people around me, I’ve found myself grappling with powerful emotions—grief over what has been lost, anger at injustice, fear about an uncertain future. People I care about deeply have shared their worries with me. Some are frightened about the future of their families. Others are exhausted from witnessing suffering they feel powerless to change.

Perhaps you know these feelings, too. It can be tempting to think that if we were wiser, stronger, or more resilient, we wouldn’t be so affected by the state of the world.

I don’t think that’s true. I believe our distress reflects our humanity. We grieve because we care. We feel anger because something precious feels threatened or violated. We experience fear because we recognize that life is fragile and uncertain.

A small moment of comfort

Recently, I was talking with one of our staff members about my own worries. As a naturalized citizen, I sometimes find myself afraid of deportation. I shared this fear with her, expecting perhaps reassurance or a practical response.

Instead, she smiled warmly and said,

“Oh no—then we’d just have to adjust all our ACL meeting times for your new time zone!” I laughed. Not because my fear disappeared. But something shifted. Her response wasn’t an argument against my concern. She didn’t tell me I was overreacting. She simply reminded me of something deeper: Wherever you are, we’ll stay connected. In that moment, fear shared space with love and humor. And that made the burden easier to carry.

How do we respond?

When the world feels overwhelming, we often ask ourselves: What should I do? The answer is not simple. Sometimes we resist. Sometimes we speak up. Sometimes we advocate for justice and protection. Sometimes we grieve. Sometimes we rest.

There is no single right response to difficult times.

But one pathway I return to again and again is this:

Create.

Not because creating fixes everything. But because creating reminds us that we are not powerless.

The many forms of creation

When we hear the word create, we often think of artists, musicians, or writers. But creating is much broader than that.

Creating can look like preparing a meal for someone who is struggling. It can look like organizing a neighborhood gathering.

Teaching a child. Listening carefully to a friend. Writing a note of appreciation. Tending a garden.

Starting a difficult conversation. Mentoring someone just beginning their path. Offering a ride. Singing. Knitting. Building a spreadsheet that helps others work more effectively.

Creating is any act that brings something life-giving into the world that was not there before.

We each have ways of contributing that come naturally to us. Sometimes they are so familiar that we overlook them. We assume they don’t count because they aren’t dramatic.

But often, what comes most naturally to us is precisely what others most need.

What is yours to give?

Over the years, I have met people with extraordinary gifts. People who could inspire a room with their words. People who could offer comfort in the midst of heartbreak.

People who could see beauty where others saw only brokenness. People who could organize chaos into clarity.

People who remembered birthdays, noticed who had been left out, and quietly made space at the table.

I don’t think contribution requires greatness in the conventional sense.

I think it requires willingness. A willingness to ask: What has life entrusted to me?

And:

How might I offer it?

Perhaps your gift is humor. Perhaps it is hospitality. Perhaps it is advocacy. Perhaps it is creativity. Perhaps it is helping people feel seen. Perhaps it is your ability to remain steady when others become overwhelmed.

The world does not need all of us to do the same thing. It needs each of us to bring what is ours to bring.

The power of small acts

When we are confronted with enormous problems, small acts can feel insignificant. What difference does one phone call make?

One conversation? One poem? One meal? One gesture of kindness?

And yet, much of what has sustained me throughout my life has come through small acts.

Someone who listened. Someone who encouraged me. Someone who believed in me. Someone who stayed.

Rarely do we know the full impact of what we offer. A single interaction can alter the course of a person’s day. Or their willingness to keep going. Or their understanding of what is possible.

Some people are called to systemic change, activism, and leadership. But even large movements are built through countless ordinary moments of human courage and care.

Some questions to contemplate

If it feels meaningful, you might pause with these questions:

What emotions arise in you as you consider the state of the world?
What helps you remember that you are not powerless?
What gifts, strengths, or forms of wisdom come naturally to you?
How have you used those gifts to support others?
What is one small act of creation you might offer this week?

There is no need to do more than you feel capable of. Perhaps the invitation is simply to notice what is already yours to give.

I don’t think power is primarily about control. Or certainty. Or influence.

I think power often looks much quieter. It is the choice to create when cynicism would be easier.

To offer kindness when fear invites us to withdraw.

To contribute without knowing exactly how our efforts will ripple outward.

To remember that even in difficult times, we remain participants in the kind of world we are helping to shape.

We can’t fix every injustice or ease every sorrow. But we can each do something. We can offer what is ours to offer.

And perhaps that is more than enough. Because it keeps our hearts engaged with life. Because it reminds us that we matter. Because it allows love to take form through action.

In times of uncertainty, we may not get to choose all that happens around us.

But again and again, we are offered another choice:

Will we close? Or will we create?

And what might become possible if we trusted that the impact of what we have to give is more than we can imagine?

A closing reflection

As you move through the coming days, I wonder: What has life entrusted to you? And how might offering it—however imperfectly—be one way of finding your power?