In the Leafy Treetops

Do you ever feel so overwhelmed by all the problems that you can't fix?

I do.

I saw an adoption posting for two beautiful young boys. My heart went out to them, and I wished I could give them a home.

My home is not large enough, and we aren't able to move.

I saw a fundraiser for a child who needs money for medical expenses to fight a terminal disease.

My bank account is not large enough, and it won't be for a while.

I saw a comment section that was full of hateful generalizations toward a group of people I love very much. I knew those statements were intentionally hurtful and untrue.

My courage was not large enough to say something that would only be attacked. I knew my voice would not change anything; I knew I would be drowned out.

The people without homes. The friendless without comfort. The children without love. The refugees without safety.

I sometimes feel like I am never able to give and solve and create and help when I often feel like that is what I was born for. Why does it always feel like my hands are tied?

When I was on study abroad for college in Germany, I was 20 years old. I'd lived a country life as a child with horses and land, and then a campus life. My days were filled with books, general college shenanigans, and working part-time mowing lawns and raking leaves.

I landed in Berlin, and I saw something else entirely. The city was incredible, and everything I experienced there was privilege. I went into the best museums, toured architecture, studied the language, strolled through the park, ate pastries, and shopped at H&M.

I also saw the same woman on my way to class. She had no shoes. Her feet were black from the dirt of the street. She didn't speak English or German. Her face was dirty and sunburned, and her dress was stained.

I thought maybe that her feet might be the same size as mine.

I knew I had an extra pair of sneakers in my bag back in my apartment.

I resolved that the next day, I would bring my extra pair of shoes and bring them to her. After two weeks of glancing at this woman daily, I finally thought about helping her.

She was gone the next day, and I never saw her again. I still regret how long it took me to see her, really see her, instead of just turning my head away.

I missed my chance because I was distracted. I still wish I had made myself see and care just one day earlier.

I did not sleep much last night. Instead, I was up cuddling my baby girl, because she was throwing up and feeling miserable. We were both exhausted. She was only calm as I was singing. Her favorite song is

"In the leafy treetops the birds say good morning.
They're first to see the sun, they must tell everyone,
In the leafy treetops, the birds say good morning.
In the pretty garden, the flowers are nodding.
How do you do, they say. How do you do today?
In the pretty garden, the flowers are nodding."

Over and over, I sang it.

She eventually calmed down and went to sleep. I stripped her bed and took her soiled clothes to the laundry basket. I scrubbed the vomit out of the carpet. I washed out the bathtub with disinfectant.

Yesterday, my heart was large enough. My body was just awake enough. My soul was willing enough. That was all that mattered to her.

A bird or a flower might not be able to cure the heartaches of everyone, but they can serve where they are. They can sing the song of the sun or nod at people as they pass by, brightening the world just a little bit at a time.

When you see the sun, will you tell those who can't see it? When you're feeling colorful and happy, can you cheer the path of someone who needs to be reminded?

In the leafy treetops, the birds say good morning.