Drought and Grace

You have probably heard of SAD - seasonal affective disorder. It is a form of depression that usually occurs during the late fall through winter. It is thought to be related to the loss of sunlight, and "light therapy" is offered as one form of treatment. Symptoms include anxiety, sadness, hopelessness, irritability, restlessness, fatigue, and a general loss of interest in just about everything. I have come up with a new disorder that I call CAD - climatic affective disorder. Like SAD, CAD is fraught with anxiety, a sense of loss, fatigue, and hopelessness. It is the result of too much sunlight, heat, and wind, common across the central plains. I have noticed CAD in many of the people that I work with at the hospital where I am chaplain, but also amongst my parishioners in Newton and Wichita. I certainly feel it when I get into my car after work and the temperature is 111 degrees. The drought has caused many of us to give up on our gardens where we spent so much time roto-tilling, planting, weeding and watering. While the wheat harvest was generally good, corn and soy are virtually destroyed. Stockmen are selling off cattle because they cannot afford hay and corn to feed their animals. I bought hay last year for my horses at $40.00 per round bale. The cheapest I have seen this year is $80.00. Five years ago a 50# sack of horse fee sold for just over $11.00 and now sells for over $16.00. Last year the cost of household groceries rose about 3% and is expected to rise another 3-4% this year. And just last week I read an article that mentioned the desertification of the American plains that began last summer. Is it any wonder that we all feel just a little blue with the creeping feeling that things are just not right in our world. What are we to do? I have noticed that generally speaking most people respond quickly to an emergency. We get focused on what needs to be done when a child is hit by a car or a parent has a heart attack. We don't always respond very well during a catastrophic illness such as cancer or alzheimer's disease. These illnesses sneak up on us, we often do not recognize their progression, and we are slow to respond over time. The challenge for us is to reach deep down into our reserves to strengthen ourselves for the long haul. We must dive into the wells of our deepest being to bring refreshment to people in our homes, workplace, and community. We do not yet fully appreciate the challenges of climate change. We may only now begin to see the subtle shifts that will reshape our lives forever. We may not have the means to reverse or even stop it. We can only live our lives and engage our relationships with grace. Thomas Merton wrote that we must, "Let go of all that seems to suggest getting somewhere, being someone, having a name and a voice, following a policy and directing people in "my" ways. What matters is love."* We may not be able to redirect climate change. We can direct our love and compassion for one another. I do not know of another response that will see us through. We can choose to be bristling heat and wind or the wellspring of hope to each other. (*Thomas Merton, A Book of Hours, Kathleen Deignan, ed. (Notre Dame: Sorin Books, 2007), p. 271