Stewardship of Energy
Things We Never Really Own
There is an uncomfortable truth that nature quietly teaches us: nothing truly belongs to us. Not the towering oak that shades the garden, not the changing seasons that arrive without our permission, not even the breath we are taking at this very moment. For a time, we are simply entrusted with them.
During my years as a hospice spiritual counselor, I came to understand something that no textbook could have taught me. No matter how much time I spent talking with someone or quietly sitting beside them, I could not save them. I could comfort the soul while disease continued its course. Nurses cared faithfully for bodies that continued to weaken. None of us could stop death. What we could do was accompany another human being with dignity, presence, and love.
Accepting this truth was heartbreaking. Yet, over time, it became strangely liberating. Looking back, I realized this was a profound stewardship of energy. Our purpose was never to control life. Our purpose was to bear witness to it.
There is something deeply sacred about sitting beside another person in their vulnerability. Holding a hand. Preparing a meal. Listening to the same story for the tenth time because it still matters to the one telling it. These moments rarely change the outcome. They change us.
Perhaps that is the deeper work of caregiving.
The philosopher Martin Buber wrote that life is found in relationships. We become ourselves not in isolation, but in genuine encounters with one another. Grief reveals this truth with startling clarity. When someone dies, we discover that love has never been measured by the number of days we shared, but by the ways one’s life continues to shape our own.
Spend even a few moments in the gathering spaces of a funeral home, and you notice something remarkable. Families rarely begin by talking about careers, awards, or accomplishments. Instead, you hear things like: “She made everyone feel like family,” “He taught me how to forgive,” “She listened without trying to fix me,” and “He always showed up.” These are the stories that remain. They remind us of a life measured less by what we accumulated than by what we cultivated in others.
This is why grief asks something different from us than simply “moving on.” It asks us to become good stewards of the energy that remains. That energy can be found in the stories, the traditions, the values, the laughter we can still hear, the recipes written in familiar handwriting, and the lessons learned through ordinary days that no longer feel ordinary.
These reflections have become the heartbeat of the Hope Grows’ Gathering Table. The Legacy Project invites caregivers and those who are grieving to share their stories. I am continually reminded that storytelling is far more than therapy. It is one of humanity’s oldest spiritual practices. Stories answer perhaps the deepest question we ask near the end of life: “Will this life be remembered?”
Legacy is carried forward in quiet moments that no one else notices. Legacy lives in quiet acts of listening, comforting, mentoring, and compassion. It is also about “what we cultivate in others.” Legacy is not what we leave behind; it is what continues to grow in the lives of others because we experience something.
Nature has always understood what we struggle to accept, that endings and beginnings often occupy the same space. A tree does not cling to its leaves when autumn arrives. It releases them, not because they were unimportant, but because letting go is part of making room for what comes next. The leaves become nourishment for the very ground that will sustain future growth.
Perhaps our lives are meant to unfold in much the same way. Bearing witness, is itself, an act of stewardship. When we truly witness another person’s suffering, another person’s joy, or a life well-lived, we become responsible for carrying some part of that story forward.
That’s what the Legacy Project is doing.
That’s what caregivers do.
That’s what grief eventually asks of us.
In the end, stewardship has never been about owning anything at all. It has always been about faithfully caring for what was entrusted to us, knowing that one day we will place it gently back in the hands of time. Perhaps, maybe that is the invitation August quietly offers us. Not to ask how much more we can do. But to ask what has been entrusted to us and how we will care for it while it is still in our hands.
Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Director
August Focus: Stewardship of Energy
Essential Oil: Bergamot
Flower: Calendula
At Hope Grows, we believe healing happens when we create space for both grief and growth. Through counseling, support groups, respite opportunities, and programs such as The Gathering Table, we invite caregivers and those grieving a loss to share their stories, find connection, and discover moments of restoration along the way. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email intake@hopegrows.org.
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