Our house came with a mother-in-law apartment. Fortunately for me, my mother-in-law would never live in it, but it did make us landlords overnight. And one thing is inevitable in the world of the landlord. Problems. Problems with the kitchen sink, problems with the toilet, problems with noise from the other tenants. In our situation, the other tenants are us. And we understand we can be noisy. We have two young, active children who wake early and play hard before they go off to daycare. As much as we try, this does disturb our tenant on occasion.

This morning she called me to complain. We have had this discussion before. We are never going to have the silent household she apparently needs. "We've changed our situation as much as we can," I told her. Again. "You need to think about your own situation."

"But, it's so noisy!" she complained.

"What do you want us to do about it?" I asked her and then waited in total silence, as I have finally learned to do. After we sat for several quiet moments, I asked the angels for guidance about what to say. The answer was rather amusing: "We cannot complain our way into a perfect situation."

None of us likes to see ourselves as the one thing that needs to change in a relationship. We do not like to contemplate that we must change, rather than ask the world to conform to us. More and more, we are being asked to do just that. The old ways don't work, our old ways of thinking about things don't work, and yet we think we can complain ourselves into a new world.

I once watched a fly fatally injure itself while attempting to escape over and over again through a full-length glass pane next to a door. The door was open.

That fly changed my thinking forever. It was apparently the fly's purpose to change my thinking, because after it had done so, it was on this earth no more, and I have never forgotten it. Which one of us needed to change in this story—me or the fly?

I'm wondering how many more times I will have to have this conversation with our tenant. My baby is going to cry sometimes in the middle of the night, and she will hear us walking over her head to comfort him. My children will wake and run to breakfast and play with their toys in the morning. If she didn't hear them doing that, she would hear me yelling at them to be quieter. Either way, there's noise. I do not have the power to change what she doesn't like. Only she does. I wonder if she knows that I hang up the phone feeling curious how long it's going to take her to find that open door.

I've learned a lot from her. I'm a better person because I've learned what I own and what I don't, and what I can change and what I can't. I can see why we've had this relationship, even as I strongly suspect it's coming to an end.

There was a time when I would have twisted myself into knots to try to keep change from happening—especially change that meant less money for me. In the past, I accepted less peace in my life to make things peaceful for others. But the truth is, we cannot argue ourselves into a perfect world. We have to take responsibility for who we are and how we contribute to the joys and woes of the world we inhabit, and then take action to create the world we would rather live in.

No matter how much we discuss it, our basement apartment will never be a penthouse. She could get there. She has the talent. And I mean that sincerely. It was one of the things that endeared me to her in the beginning of our relationship—her massive talent. I don't know why she's hanging around arguing with me when her whole world is on the other side of that door.

This morning, our paper was late. We called to complain about it at just after 7:00 am. It arrived before 7:45 with a spectacular, full-page color picture of the Obamas just after the inauguration, on the front page. I didn't have much time by the time it arrived, but I did stare at it. I showed it to our daughter and told her, "This is our new president and his wife. It's Mr. and Mrs. Obama." She pointed to his face and said, "Obama." Obama. Indeed.

The picture is perfect in its classy detail. I savored it for several minutes after my family had gone. We don't really know what this administration will mean for us, but I felt hope. I felt hopeful as I wheeled about and collected breakfast dishes and my children's toys off the floor. I felt hopeful showering and gathering my clothes to dress. I felt hopeful as a child driving in the frigid sunny morning and pulling into the driveway of the homeless day shelter where I work two days a week.

There was the usual collection of people and their things. Bicycles, shopping carts covered with tarps, coffee cans surrounded by early morning smokers. Some people already had their coffee and were stamping on the sidewalk to arouse their frozen limbs. There was already an argument loud enough to frighten the pigeons off the gates near the railroad tracks. One woman emerged from inside in tears. She sat between a man and his ash-collecting coffee can and cried.

"What's wrong with you?" he queried, seemingly devoid of sympathy.

The problem became obvious a few moments later when her on-again, off-again boyfriend emerged into the morning sun as well. "I don't need anyone. I don't need shit!" he cried to his audience of players.

The fellow near the coffee can screamed, "Get over yourself, asshole!" and the slighted woman let him reach around her to deposit his ashes.

It was so cold, the water in the pet food dishes someone had left overnight was still frozen. As I was extricating myself from my vehicle with my lunch bag and the knapsack which holds my mobile office, I noticed the shopping cart of a man I am working with. His belongings, including two beloved cats in a carrier, were tied with a bungee cord and secured from the wind and the cold. Flying in the bungee like a flag was that same picture of the Obamas, and in the ditch beside the shopping cart was a bright red, handled shopping bag from a major department store's Christmas campaign. It says simply, "Believe."

I had a busy day. The throngs on the streets have grown. I'm vying for funding to keep my organization running, working on a large grant, gathering forces. My clients are all desperate. I'm tired. The cold is hard for me, but not as hard as it is for them. I do what I can. At the end of the day, a woman I've met before plops herself down in my office. She is processing some information that's upsetting to her. She doesn't live in the reality of the majority. I know she sees my exhaustion as patience, and she talks on as I get ready to leave. I can't help but notice she is carrying one of those red bags. Believe. I have this moment of wondering if that message is meant for me.

As I back my van out of the alley onto the street, I see a young couple whose faces I know, but whose names I do not. They are pushing a large, overfilled shopping cart between them. She is carrying a bag. Believe. There is another bag hung over the side of the cart. Believe. Obviously, many of these bags made it into the dumpsters and recycling bins that homeless people frequent. Or perhaps the store put them out purposely. Perhaps they had an overabundance of the bags from a season in which not many consumers believed in the economy. They are good bags for street people—sturdy and large.

I found myself laughing uncontrollably. "Okay, okay, I'm listening!" I said aloud. And this is the message:

Believe there are great leaders. How long these leaders serve is inconsequential. The energetic shift is made and will forever affect the course of events. Believe that the earth is coming to its time of healing. Believe that all humanity has the capacity now to know the love of God as an internal source. You are the Light.

The angels know that I have been plagued by worries that I fear to put into words—that this time of hope won't last. I'm frustrated by people seeing people only by the color of their skin, or judging them by their inability to live in the mainstream reality. I'm frustrated by eight long years of watching social infrastructure crumble, person by person. I think I have PTBS—either Post Traumatic Bush Syndrome or, well, use your imagination. Our reality needs to change in so many ways. There is so much wisdom to be had in human suffering when we face it—what we ourselves suffer and what those around us suffer. I think sometimes I'm only getting a small glimpse of what I'm being called to accomplish here, but I am rising to my challenges every day.

I saw one last bag scuttling empty across a windy intersection. Believe. It brought tears to my eyes.