I had coffee with a friend earlier this week and she expressed how deeply distraught she has been over what is happening to our nation, particularly the weaponization of the government against American citizens and non-citizens alike. While I certainly understand the despair that has beset so many of us, and have shared in such despair myself since 2015, my outlook on what is happening is shifting.

I’m sure getting out of the country and away from the daily barrage of propaganda pressed upon us from all sides helps to improve my perspective. Although the very same tech billionaires who have helped destablize our government are now working to destablize governments in countries throughout Europe.

It is true that being in the UK serves to remind me that this world is built for renewal, just like us. I told my girlfriend that while in England, Tim and I had the opportunity to hike to a church graveyard where we were able to touch the limbs of a tree that is 1600 years old. On my desk I have strips of bark that the old grandfather tree shed and that I’d picked up from the ground. The tree is so old that some of its gigantic limbs have been propped up from underneath by timber poles of other trees, the way a cane or crutches might serve to prop up an old man bent with arthritis.

There was something sacred and powerful about placing my hand on that ancient tree, especially there surrounded by the graves of those long dead. Its limbs were adorned with a hunter green jacket woven with fleshy red berries covering seeds of renewal. The inscription of one nearby tomb noted that under the limbs of this great yew were the bodies of six children – three boys and three girls who did not survive whatever plague beset them in the 1700s. After listing each of the children’s names, the inscription issued a warning: READER, THOY TOO MYST DIE PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD.

Welp. There’s a sermon we’d all do well to heed, heh?

There are numerous ancient yew trees in England, some recorded to be 5,000 years or more older. There are reportedly 500 yew trees in England that are older than the churches whose yards they stand sentry in. Some believe they were planted in churchyards to keep livestock from grazing, as yew will kill a cow stone-cold dead. Often, though, the yew was planted over the graves of those who died from plagues as an act of protecting and purifying the dead.

A single act of hope: Planting a tree as a way of mourning, with the belief that whatever ailment took the life of a loved one would be rendered powerless over those left grieving.

Yews, which aren’t even considered old until they reach their 900th birthday, continue to be a symbol of immortality. Their mythical prowess is rooted in legend and in science. Anti-cancer compounds are harvested from the yew’s foliage.

Yews impart hope for many.

I certainly came away from that churchyard filled with hope.

When I set out to write Mother of Rain, Burdy and Christain Bend, I followed along a commonly known pattern of something called the Hero’s Journey. Penned by Joseph Campbell, a scholar in comparative mythology and religion, Campbell maintained that Hero’s Journey identifies common elements in almost any story.

In laymen’s terms, the Hero receives a call for an adventure, an adventure that will present challenges, a call the Hero does not want to undertake. There are all sorts of obstacles that arise, making the Hero uncertain, afraid, despondent, despairing. Helpers come along to render aid to the Hero. The Hero is buoyed by the community of helpers. A transformation takes place and the Hero rises to the challenge and overcomes every obstacle. A renewal or resurrection occurs and the Hero is forever changed by the experience.

What everyone realizes is that the Hero could never have overcome the challenges were it not for the community of helpers/mentors who rendered aid.

Just as the 1600 year old yew would likely be face down in the dirt were it not for the community who brought in the timber poles from other trees to prop up the yew’s heavy laden limbs.

That ancient yew tree is America right now. Millions of us are carrying heavy burdens – financial, failing health, fears for our families, our friends, and for those we don’t even know. We have been on the verge of despair as we witness our president and his administration weaponize the military and the government against us. We are exhausted and fearful that that there is no way out of the horrors before us.

But that’s not our reality.

Every single one of us is in the middle of this country’s Hero’s Journey. We are confronted on all sides with obstacles. The threshold of rising is before us. We cannot do this in isolation. We have to surround ourselves with a community of helpers/mentors.

Nobody is coming to save America. We have to be each other’s helper, each other’s hero.

Together we can write a new story for this country. A story of transformation. A story in which we face down the fire-breathing dragons and live to tell our children and their children how working in concert with one another, we, too, saved the country our ancestors died fighting for.

We are in the midst of a hard battle now, dear ones, but do not lose hope. We do not fight alone. We are surrounded on all sides by everyday heroes.

Karen Spears Zacharias is author of After the Flag Has Been Folded (William Morrow).