The Ministry of Minutes: How Ordinary People Steady the World

I was reading a post by Todd Mafifin https://todmaffin.com/ (The world between minutes) and as I have been thinking about time, it lead me to these ideas.

A few months ago, I sat down with a small group of dedicated Board members to apply for a grant. It was the kind of administrative task that doesn’t feel particularly glamorous, endless forms, budget projections, and carefully worded mission statements. We did it because that is what you do when you care about something. You put in the work, you cross your fingers, and then you wait.

A few days ago, the news arrived: we received the grant.

In the grand scheme of a world that feels like it’s spinning off its axis, a single grant for a local seniors’ organization might seem like a small thing. But here is the truth I am holding onto right now: it is not a small thing. It is everything. This funding will allow us to host seminars, run programs, and bring connection to hundreds of seniors in Port Coquitlam. It means that for a few hundred people, the week will look a little brighter, the isolation will lift just a little, and the message will be clear: You are seen. You matter.

We are living through a tonne of bad news. It arrives in our pockets constantly, delivered in neat little rectangles of light. The notifications stack up, political turmoil, environmental dread, economic uncertainty, human suffering. It is easy to feel like the world is unravelling, and it is even easier to feel powerless to stop it. The chaos is loud, relentless, and it demands our attention.

But here is what I have noticed lately. The good news doesn’t arrive in a push notification. It shows up in smaller, quieter doses. It doesn’t shout; it simply persists.

Teachers still show up. They stand in front of classrooms, day after day, shaping young minds and offering stability in a world that offers very little of it. Volunteers still show up. They ladle soup in community kitchens, sort donations at food banks, and sit with the elderly. Nurses and First Responders still take their shifts. They walk into the emergency room, the long-term care facility, the ambulance, and they do their jobs with steady hands and tired eyes. They don’t fix the whole world, but they steady the minute in front of them.

And that, I believe, is the secret we have forgotten.

We do not control the chaos. The news cycle will spin whether we watch it or not. The world will continue to throw curveballs. We cannot stop the storm, but we can decide how we hold the umbrella. We can decide what the next minute looks like. We can choose to make that minute kind. We can choose to make it productive. We can choose to make it about someone other than ourselves.

By taking control of the minutes, we take control of the hours. And by taking control of the hours, we take control of the day. And by taking control of the day, we take control of how we approach our lives.

I was talking to a senior the other day, one of the wonderful humans we have the privilege of serving. He told me that he is now the longest-living member of his entire family. He has outlived his parents, his siblings, and even some of his friends. I expected to hear sadness in his voice, perhaps the weight of so many goodbyes. Instead, I heard something else entirely.

He said, "I take every day as a blessing. I wake up, and I am just happy to be in the moment."

Here is a man who has seen more chaos than most of us can imagine. He has lived through wars, economic crashes, personal losses, and the relentless march of time itself. And yet, his secret to longevity wasn't a diet or an exercise routine. It was gratitude. It was the choice to see each new sunrise as a small miracle.

That conversation stopped me in my tracks. Because if he can find joy in the moment, despite everything, then what is our excuse?

The truth is, we are surrounded by small miracles. We just don’t call them that anymore. We call them "ordinary." We call them "routine." We forget that the reason the world hasn't completely fallen apart is that millions of ordinary people are quietly choosing to hold it together.

The teacher who stays late to help a struggling student. The neighbour who shovels the walkway of the elderly couple next door. The friend who sends a text just to say, "I was thinking of you." The Board member who donates their time to write a grant application. The senior who wakes up and decides to be happy.

These are the acts that form the invisible architecture of a functioning society. They don’t make the news. They don’t trend on social media. But they are the reason any of us make it through.

So, if you are struggling with the chaos around us, and let’s be honest, who isn’t? I invite you to try something. Put down the phone for a minute. Stop doomscrolling. Stop trying to solve the problems of the entire world all at once. You can’t. None of us can.

Instead, look at the minute in front of you. What can you do right now? Can you make a cup of tea and breathe? Can you send a kind word to someone? Can you show up for a shift, for a friend, for yourself?

The grant we received is not going to change the world. But it is going to change the world for a few hundred seniors. It is going to give them a reason to get out of the house, a reason to connect, a reason to smile. And that is enough. That is more than enough.

We are living through a tonne of bad news. But we are also living through a tonne of quiet, persistent goodness. It is happening in the margins, in the moments no one records, in the hearts of people who simply refuse to give up.

Be one of those people. Steady the minute in front of you. Build what the next minute looks like. And remember, each one is a small miracle.