Guest Post: Small Things, Big Waves
Lessons in organizing from a small town by Mary Metzger.
The following beautiful reflection is by Mary Metzger. I met Mary while working on the story "Public Money, Private Benefit" because she is playing a key role in organizing against the use of taxpayer money to fund a millionaire’s private business in her town. When talking to her, I was so impressed by her calm insight and thoughtfulness—two qualities that truly come through in what she has written below. I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I do.
Small Things, Big Waves by Mary Metzger
Greeley is the small town where I grew up, where I raised my children, and now where my grandchildren come to visit me. My mother, who also grew up here, is in my care, and together we continue to call Greeley home across generations. To me, every place is a small town because every person matters and everybody needs grace.
The place I grew up in is now littered with hopelessness. People are experiencing homelessness here, but the city no longer seems to want to help. People are working hard here, but businesses pay very little. It has become so expensive to live here, two of my children have had to move away. When the place you call home is not a home for your children and grandchildren anymore, everything can feel like shattered glass. We all want our kids to thrive. We all want our grandkids to do better than we did. We all want our town and neighbors to thrive.
As I look back at my lived experience here through a smudged lens, it often feels easier to give up than to try to fix things. I almost had. I had filled out petition after petition, written to my elected leaders– I had done these things hoping to make a change, but I didn’t see anything happen. Earlier this year, in the midst of feeling low, I received a phone call. I didn’t recognize the number. I didn’t answer. A few hours later, I saw that whoever called me had left me a voicemail. I listened. The message was from a person– a stranger– who was wondering how I was handling life in this crazy world. She was calling because I had signed one of those petitions.
On a whim, I called back. We spent time discussing the feelings of hopelessness and she asked me a simple question: “What do you want to do about it?” I wasn’t quite sure. What I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to quit trying to make my town as good as I know it can be.
When I talk to my grandkids, I often tell them: If you follow these four rules, life will be good. It sounds so simple, so natural, yet it might be the hardest thing any of us can do. Here are the rules:
Keep yourself safe. Keep your friends safe. Keep your things safe.
Be kind.
Listen to listen.
When you know better, do better.
I also talk to my grandkids about how to respond when life feels unfair or when we feel hurt. How can we reframe those moments? How can we remember that everyone struggles, everyone falls short, everyone makes mistakes, and everyone fails. One of the greatest disservices in America is the belief that failure is a life sentence rather than a lesson.
I personally have felt the weight of this in my life many times, but what kept me from believing it was the voice of my dad. As a small child, I was paralyzed. I spent many nights in the Greeley hospital. As a child, you don’t understand what community means. Now, as a grandma, I have the hindsight to understand. The things I remember best about being sick were my visits from my dad’s work friends. They would come to see me and bring me gifts. What I didn’t understand at the time was that they were coming not just for me, but for my parents, too. These visits kept my parents hopeful that I would be okay. My babysitter would also visit; her mother was a nurse at the hospital. Her mother would come and help me with whatever I needed. She was kind, and she helped me feel safe. These moments shaped my ability to keep going.
My dad would often say: “Don’t sweat the small things.” If we can shift our mindset and teach our kids, grandkids, friends, and communities that failure is simply a lesson learned, we open the door to growth and compassion. I don’t think I would have recovered without the love from my community, family, and friends. I am grateful. To this very day, I am friends with that babysitter and with one of my dad's work friends who came to visit me. These people are my people. They helped me understand the town that Greeley can be – and who I can be.
I do not want to be like the billionaire who is praised for being “self-made.” I want to be like the people who visited me in the hospital and kept hope up for my parents. I want to be like the man who stops to help you when your tire is flat. I want to be like the woman who notices you are struggling and brings you a hot meal. I want to be like the friend who takes your grandkids out for a special day when you cannot afford it, or the stranger who offers a smile when you are hurting inside.
My dad died a few years ago, and, sometime later, I remember crying in my car in the grocery store parking lot. I was having a particularly hard day. I was thinking about how much I miss him. Grief is a funny thing; sometimes it hits you out of nowhere. I collected myself and headed inside. When I returned to my car, I found a note on my window that read: “You are much too beautiful to cry. I hope whatever is hurting you will heal. Take care of yourself.”
These small acts happen in small towns and big cities, across oceans and in every culture. And the truth is, they are not small at all. They are ripples that grow into waves. I have experienced the impact of love, community, and family in my hometown. I have experienced strangers who have been willing to help me. This is what makes us great.
That is why, when I got that phone call from the stranger, the one who asked “What should we do about it,” I thought about all these lessons I have learned, the advice I have been given, the kindness I have experienced right here in Greeley. When she asked me what we should do about it, I didn’t feel like I had all the answers, but I knew I wanted to be a part of figuring it out.
Since then, I’ve joined a group of my neighbors to do this work together. We talk, we debate, we organize, we show up. We are trying to figure out solutions to make our town better, we are bringing them to the City Council, we are implementing them ourselves. It reminds me of the people who came to the hospital to visit me, of the person who left the note on my car. It feels like Greeley returning to be who we were meant to be.
When we practice empathy, kindness, and love in everyday ways, those ripples can change the world. When you feel angry, sad, hurt, or frustrated, feel your feelings. Write about them. Meditate. Journal. Do what you need to do to process them. But do not stay there. Find your people. Help people. Love people. Show up. And remember: just as failure is a lesson, empathy is a choice, and so is happiness.
I see people in Gaza, living through unimaginable loss, still loving their children and finding moments of joy. If they can choose joy in the midst of such tragedy, surely we can choose it in our everyday lives here in Greeley or in your town. Yet too often, we let fear, cynicism, and self-interest get in the way. We have been taught to believe that if we help someone else, we lose something, that putting others first somehow hurts us. In my experience and research, it is the opposite. When we show kindness, give people space to recover from mistakes, and remind them that they are not their failures, those people often become the ones who make the greatest impact.
In Greeley, we are only as strong as our most vulnerable person. That means we need to love everybody, show empathy, and remember that we are all just figuring it out together. Failure is not the end. It is only a lesson learned. And the only thing you can truly count on is that you count.
Mary Metzger is a daughter, mom, and grandma living in Greeley, Colorado. She’s a retired preschool teacher who has worked with kids her whole life. She also cared for her grandmother and her dad until they passed. She currently cares for her mom. Her family has lived in Greeley, Colorado, for generations. She loves helping and loves her community.
Amen 👏👏
Thank you, Gwen, for sharing Mary's love letter to her town and it's people. Thank you, Mary, for reminding us that goodness continues to be around us. And It's important to keep looking for that goodness. I'm reminded of growing up in my small town of a 1,000 and then grew to 2,000. The goodness of people is holy and sacred.