I live in the Northeast, which is not as far removed from the terrible effects of Hurricane Katrina as one might imagine. Three days after the catastrophic storm hit the southeast coastal states of Louisiana and Mississippi, we had a day of wild winds that stirred people into agitation, distress, and fear. The fears were both generalized (the lines lengthened at the gas pumps in anticipation of a shortage) and specific (concern that high gas and oil costs would make normal travel to and from work an inescapable financial burden on families with limited incomes). One of my friends who works in a therapeutic equestrian center told me the horses were skittish and irritable all day, though no one thought until our conversation about the suffering that was borne on those winds that rustled our trees, dropped branches, and rattled the most even of tempers.

As we talked, I heard myself say, "Think about those particular winds, which came together in an unusually fierce convergence of weather conditions to generate a storm more ferocious than this country has seen in some time, perhaps ever. Think about the suffering those winds caused as they ripped boats from their moorings, homes from their foundations, people from their loved ones, and some from the lives they had known forever. Those winds carry the howls---some heard, some silenced forever---of the afflicted---mothers, fathers, children, the four-leggeds and birds, the trees uprooted and tossed like matchsticks into piles of rubble. As those winds bearing unimaginable suffering on their wings swept over us, however light it might have been in comparison to the impact in New Orleans, Gulfport, Biloxi, Waveland, Pass Christian and other cities and towns in the path of the storm, we could sense the anguish faced by those who met the winds head-on and felt the full destructive power of their force.

No matter where we live in the United States at this moment in time, we sense the suffering of our people, indeed the whole family of creation. It's simply not possible to be alive this week, to be awake and aware of what has happened in the aftermath of this storm, and not share the suffering in some way. Alongside many, I struggle with whether I am doing enough to help those who are still out of the reach of the search and rescue teams, the protection of police and national guard, the care of mental health workers, the most basic necessities such as food and water.

Watching this horror from afar, the question many of us are struggling with is, "What can I do? How can I help?" And of course the impulse to help is great. We can be grateful that, while homes can be destroyed and lives lost or shattered, nothing can steal from us what we do not willingly surrender: our good hearts.

All of us, from residents of New Orleans to residents of the Pacific Northwest, have the opportunity to open the door to despair or to hope in the wake of Katrina. Hard as it is to see grim images that burrow into our spirits and make our hearts heavy, I believe we are, right now, creating a collective response to this crisis that will sink us or teach us to swim. I lean into my spiritual teachers of all traditions and find wisdom in the question asked of seekers by Seneca Grandmother Twyla Nitsch: "Am I contributing to the harm, or to the good?"

It will not help the people of Louisiana and Mississippi if we yield to despair. Perhaps it will help them if we hold a strong field of hope where they have so little, or none. So I consider the small ways I can take action in the middle of my life, today, that will contribute to the good. "If I can't change the fear and suffering in the southeast today, can I do something about the fear and suffering that's right on front of me?" I can. I will.

I approached the day with this end in mind. I shared it with others who came through my door with their own portion of anguish to bear, and it helped. Together we decided that we could each open a door we might have closed, hold out a hand we might have held back, been a little kinder or softer to others than our tempers might allow, stretch a little further than we ordinarily would. We talked about what to do as we watched televised accounts of the events in the aftermath of Katrina. My friend Ann considered this for a few minutes and then said, "When I'm watching someone tell us what happened, instead of falling into overwhelm, I can hold a thought of hope. I can sit by the television and hold the thought, 'Right now, someone is taking the exact next step that will help this person. There is enough food in this country, and enough water. There are enough people to help, or to aid in the search for lost family members. Right now, help is on the way.'"

In short, we can lend our thoughts and hearts to the good or to the suffering. There is more than enough suffering, not just here but in the world at large: New Orleans, Iraq, Gaza, Gulfport, Niger, Waveland. Hope is what we need, now more than ever, and hope is something every one of us can choose to lend to people without it today.

In place of fear, if possible, vote for courage today. In place of suffering, vote for hope. Lift it up, hold it out, in your thoughts and your actions. Never think small. Whether you know it or not, your response matters. It counts in the overall turn of events that will lead us to become a more savage people or a more civilized people, a more fearful or a more emboldened people, a more hoarding or generous people.

Vote with your thoughts. Vote with your actions. Vote with your heart.

Think big. Think boldly. Think hope.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Meredith Jordan,