Wars and elections are both too big and too small to matter in

In the quiet wisdom of her words, Barbara Kingsolver speaks a truth both humbling and exalting: “Wars and elections are both too big and too small to matter in the long run. The daily work — that goes on, it adds up.” These words echo like an ancient bell through the corridors of human history, reminding us that while empires rise and fall, while banners of victory or defeat are raised and forgotten, the true fabric of civilization is woven not by the mighty, but by the daily hands of the humble. It is the unseen labor of countless souls — the farmers, the healers, the teachers, the parents, the builders — that sustains the world while the thunder of power comes and goes.

For wars and elections, those grand displays of human ambition and struggle, are like storms across the sea — loud, destructive, and fleeting. They stir the surface, but the deep waters beneath remain calm, enduring, unchanged. The daily work, however, is the quiet current that shapes the depths, carving valleys and nourishing life. In every generation, the noise of politics and war captures the ear, but history is written by the persistence of ordinary goodness — the hands that feed, the minds that teach, the hearts that heal.

Think, my children, of Mahatma Gandhi, who stood not as a conqueror but as a servant of truth. He did not rule armies, nor did he hold office in the way the world counts power. Yet through his daily work — walking, weaving, teaching, and refusing to meet violence with violence — he moved a nation and shook an empire. His greatness was not born in a single event, but in the quiet repetition of faith, discipline, and compassion. His example is the living proof that the small acts of conscience surpass the noise of worldly power.

The ancients knew this truth long before our time. The Chinese sage Lao Tzu spoke of the Tao, the Way that flows unseen, shaping all things. He said that great things are done by a series of small acts. The farmer who tills his soil each day does more to secure the peace of his land than the general who fights for it once in blood. The mother who teaches kindness to her child does more for the future of humanity than the ruler who writes new laws. The daily work — the tending, the mending, the giving — is the quiet heartbeat of eternity.

And yet, how easily the human spirit is drawn to spectacle. We wait for great events to save us: a hero, an election, a revolution. But Kingsolver reminds us that salvation is not born in moments of noise, but in lifetimes of diligence. The temple of the future is built one brick at a time — by those who rise each day to do what is right, not for glory, but for love. For what is unseen endures, while what is celebrated fades.

In the long arc of time, wars are forgotten, and victories turn to dust. But the quiet labor of compassion — the doctor’s healing touch, the teacher’s patient lesson, the craftsman’s care — these shape the soul of humanity. It is the daily faithfulness to good that redeems the world. Even the smallest act — a seed planted, a kindness spoken — ripples outward beyond imagining. The cosmos itself was not built in a day of thunder, but through endless days of quiet creation.

So, my children, heed this teaching: Do not be deceived by the size of your actions. Do not wait for the world to summon you with grand purpose. Begin now, in the simplicity of your daily work. Feed the hungry. Speak truth. Keep faith in your craft. Sweep your corner of the world with care. Let your labor, however small, be done with love, for love multiplies. What you do each day, faithfully, becomes the story of humankind.

And when the centuries pass and the world forgets the wars and the elections, your quiet deeds will remain — not written in books, but in the living memory of the earth itself. For it is not the thunder that endures, but the steady flame. Remember this, and let your daily work be your offering to the eternal.