So it begins. Or should I say continues?
We are living in the upside down, and those whose profession it is to heal hurts, build bridges, cultivate belonging, and otherwise raise our collective consciousness about what it means to be human toward each other are exhausted and feeling just a little undone. To say these are trying times is a gross understatement.
On November 6th, I traveled to an authors’ retreat scheduled months before, and when I arrived, I ordered groceries to be delivered. When the driver’s name populated in my app, I chuckled. Socrates.
“Is Socrates your real name?” I asked when he reached the door.
“Yep – the name my parents gave me,” he replied, with a tone indicating this conversation was not new.
“I could use some philosophy right about now,” I said, only half-jokingly. (A subtle plea.)
“About what, exactly?” he asked. Did he not know?
“The world,” I sighed.
Without hesitation, he replied, “You are before the world.” He then handed me my bags, took the customary photo for evidence, and walked away. I stood motionless in the breezeway—letting his words settle on me.
When I shared the brief exchange with my author sisters, so much came up for us:
Take care of yourself first. You are before the world.
You must clear a path for others to follow. You are before the world.
People are more important than systems. You are before the world.
I later found a bible verse with the same sentiment: For he chose us in him before the creation of the world…[Ephesians 1:4].
I couldn’t stop thinking about what Socrates said, and I wondered whether he knew just how profound it was. How timely. How needed. The following days brought increasing clarity, and everything I’d learned and taught over the years about focusing on what you can control, doing what you can with what you have, and “leading from where you are” began converging in my mind. I knew I couldn’t let myself drown in helplessness. But it was also true that I couldn’t see my way out or through just yet, and I was convinced that doing so would get harder in the months and years to come.
Many of us threatened to gather our toys and go home. But these “toys” – these acts of care and connectedness and courage – are ingrained in us. In fact, we often feel worse when we’re not helping. Our service to mankind is our mantle, and it will take more than systemic collapse to alter that truth.
I believe there’s a sacred space between leaving it all on the field and opting out entirely. The former takes every ounce of faith and fire in our bones. The latter is sometimes the only thing we can do to stay sane—to keep the fear of being abused or rejected or diminished or discarded or stripped bare—again—at bay. But we must discover, together, a new way to help that doesn’t hurt us. To show people the way without losing ourselves. To give without coming up empty.
I’m not sure what that looks like for you, but for me, it means creating with abandon. It means teaching people who want to learn. It means actively supporting those who share my values, and refusing to be brought low by those who don’t. It means building community with others who still believe in justice and goodness and mercy. And it means putting myself before the world and all its ills, as God intended.
We made a cozy “uniform,” which is what I’ve begun to call it, and you can get it from this Black-woman-owned shop, which belongs to our team member Erica Keith: https://blackforwardshop.com (She also designed the YABTW logo.)
We are helpers, yes. But we are also before the world. And I’m going to spend 2025 obnoxiously reminding you of this fact until it sticks.
With love,
Tara Jaye Frank
