In recent conversations with friends and colleagues, I sense a foreboding wave of uncertainty rippling out amongst us. I went to lunch with a friend, and over fifteen dollar sub sandwiches (hello inflation), we talked about our hopes and our fears in this season of life. “It feels like people are just holding their breath” she said.

I nodded deeply. Yes, and in this unsustainable hold where elections loom, I don’t want to restrict my movement so much that I pass out.

Sure, reminding ourselves to take a breath is self-care 101. I’m trying to start my mornings with breath, reassurance that this is the day the Lord I has made. I can rejoice and be glad in it.

Another kind friend reminded me, too, that we have a choice in what stories we want to stand next to and welcome with us as we dress. Shame, no thanks. Foreboding, take a splat next to my dirty socks in the closet. Instead, may we shroud ourselves in love. Allow the silk of compassion to brush over our heads like cashmere. Or, since it’s hot in July, maybe we can just tuck little kerchiefs of kindness into the pockets of our shorts.

My daughter has taken to wearing her Elmo slippers most evenings. A stall tactic, she places the red balls of fluff with plastic eyeballs onto her feet with care while we do the bedtime routine. She insists I leave them on as she begins to self-soothe her way into another evening of rest. When she wakes early, I pad across the hall to retrieve here, allowing her an hour of comfort in our bed before we begin another day.

This morning, after the alarm went off a few times too many, I lay with my eyes glued to the ceiling. I took a breath. And in my exhale, turned to see four big, plastic eyes staring up at me from under the sheets. Joy, tucked into a place of safety and rest. Little inhales. Little exhales. A reminder that we get to choose what we put on as we start our day. Comfort, care, connection. Less foreboding.

These are the things that are going to sustain us when, as always, the world seems to be falling just a little bit apart. I want to put on joy and leave the rest with the dirty socks. Elmo, and the patience he requires, is reminding me to do just that. A beautiful thing.