But What Can *I* Do?

In Middlemarch**, Dorothea Brooke reacts with dismay when she discovers that an acquaintance's reputation is being (unjustly, she believes) dragged through the mud. But when those around her counsel her to stay out of it and not borrow trouble, she replies with some heat, "What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?"

Indeed.

Though such a sentiment lines up with both my personal faith and with larger Christian tenets (and also those of other major religions or even simply ethical and moral living espoused by those who profess no particular faith), I often struggle with exactly how to make life less difficult and for whom.

It's not that opportunities don't surround me. Our church is filled with MCCers and is associated with a number of different immigrant groups. One member works with cluster bombs, another with restorative justice. Our local community constantly advertises clean-up days, environmental awareness days, green festivals, etc. And, of course, there are enough new relationships in my life with work and the kids' school to give me ample opportunities to foster community.

But the sheer number of opportunities is overwhelming. The Husband and I watched An Inconvenient Truth yesterday, and as with most "call to arms" presentations like that, I rise from my viewing wearily, and instead of feeling emboldened for change, I feel disheartened and weighed down.

In fact, I feel less like Dorothea and more like her Middlemarchian foil, Rosamund Lydate, wife of the man whose reputation has crumbled and his livelihood along with it. When he tells her of their troubles and financial woes, she looks at him and says, "But Tertius, what can I do?"

In the book, her response is a sign of her moral weakness, her childishness, her selfishness. But I find myself saying the same thing in the face of the enormity of poverty, food security issues, the growing disparity of wealth, the sickness of individualism. What can I, little Peitricia Mae, caught up myself in a life where much time is spent unknowingly fostering the very ills facing our world, do?

I honestly don't know. I do think that the answer lies in picking one or two causes, pursuing them passionately, and cheering on those who choose others. I think the answer lies in saying not "what can I do," but instead "what can I do?" What is available to me? If I can't single-handedly stop global warming, perhaps I can sign up to teach some ESL classes. If I can't bring peace to Darfour, perhaps I can work to raise two children who will be peacemakers, even at individual cost. If I can't live completely sustainably, perhaps I can stay out of malls as much as possible to avoid feeding the latent consumerism that threatens to overtake me (and my wallet) too often.

And perhaps that will have to do.

** For those who have not yet experienced the glory that is Middlemarch (a 19th century novel by George Eliot), I would highly recommend you make plans to do so this coming winter. It's not really summertime reading - unless you like your beach reading long, complicated, and with four (count'em - four!) marriage plots, but it's perfect for a snowy day with a cup of tea or two. Plan ahead now - keep an eye out at the bargain section of your local bookstore and pick up a cheap copy when you see it. It will likely take you longer than your average library borrowing period, and I would submit that everyone would be the better for owning a copy. It's my desert island book, and her ability to capture the intricacies of the human psychological condition in her characters makes every annual reading fresh for me.