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Where the doubt should be

This author is a recipient

of the Sigma Tau Delta Award

Sigma Tau Delta Awarde

Nicky Gant

is a mom of four with a heart for peace and justice, who is dedicated to following the still small voice within, wherever it leads. As Service & Justice Coordinator at St. Ambrose, she gets to share her faith, plan mission trips, and connect students with opportunities to engage in local community service projects. She is passionate about connecting with God through contemplative prayer and helping others navigate their journey through life from a spiritual perspective. She shares her writing on


There are no words, just this grief that isn’t mine but is at the same time.

How can I live in a world like this, where we can’t control who allows black oil to pump through their veins– slippery rage, explosive blindness? How does a handsome young man become a murderous machine?

How do I breathe as the magnitude of horror rises like lava in my heart and the reality sinks in: there are no safe spaces left for my children.

Even my grandmother can be gunned down by pure hate in a grocery store for the color of her skin.

We are easy targets at a parade.

But I am still breathing, I am.

One inhale at a time into the deep canyon within, a familiar rhythm through the splintery shards of residual emotion– I have to stop sometimes to wince.

Christ is still being crucified here, and it’s hard to witness.

My mind wants to start a coalition, support the schools to add more curriculum– I need to make another call to congressional leaders– maybe if more of us band together– I must, I should, I will.

But be still, a voice inside me whispers, and I have to admit my soul longs for rest.

If I want to create world peace, I must first reclaim my own, which has been snatched from between the ribs in my chest. My prized jewel, His promise that I’ve worked so hard to embrace: I do not give as the world gives

I love how the redwood trees interweave their roots down deep with each other’s– that’s how they rise up so high, beacons of hope for generations– majestic shade, strength through every storm. Even wildfires can’t always break through their unified guard.

They are a marvel, something magical in a world that feels too excruciatingly real sometimes.

They speak of what’s possible without saying a word.

As I sink my roots into the silence, I find the nourishment spirit was nudging me toward, and I remember how to believe again.

We can still grow tall here   in spite of everything. We can intertwine our roots with each other’s and be given the courage to rise.

We can be marvels, miraculous beacons of hope, and we can provide shade for whoever happens to wander through our forest.

World peace starts within, and it can pump through our veins where the doubt should be.

We can create oxygen, we can breathe.

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