Why We Feel Empty in a World Full of Everything

I was making my husband's lunch the yesterday when I noticed something. I don't usually crave sandwiches but as I sliced the homemade bread, added tomatoes from the garden, lettuce, and red onions, I wanted one too. It wasn't really the sandwich that caught my attention, it was everything behind it.

The bread wasn't something we picked up on the way home. The tomatoes had been growing for months. Even though I didn't grow the lettuce or red onions this time, I smiled because I knew I could. That's a different kind of feeling.

It made me stop and think about how many of the things that bring me the deepest sense of joy are things that can't be ordered online or delivered to my front porch.

There is something deeply satisfying about opening a jar of jelly you made from berries you picked yourself. There is something different about eating a cucumber and tomato salad when you know exactly where those vegetables came from. I don't have to wonder what was sprayed on them. I watched them grow. I watered them. I waited for them.

That waiting changes you.

The world has become incredibly good at giving us things quickly, but many of the things that bring the greatest satisfaction still refuse to be rushed.

A tomato still takes time.

Bread still has to rise.

Fruit trees still grow one season at a time.

Knowledge still has to be practiced.

Relationships still have to be nurtured.

Children still need someone willing to slow down long enough to teach them.

Sometimes I wonder if part of the reason so many people feel empty isn't because they have too little, but because they spend so much of their lives consuming and so little of it creating.

Creating food.

Creating memories.

Creating traditions.

Creating skills.

Creating something that will outlive them.

One of the richest feelings I have isn't looking at an investment account. Don't get me wrong. We invest. We save. We own precious metals. I believe those things have their place.

But I also know that numbers on a screen can change in a single day.

A storm doesn't care what the stock market closed at. Neither does an empty grocery shelf.

What gives me peace is knowing food will come back next year because we planted it. Knowing we have seeds saved from previous harvests. Knowing we can preserve food, dry herbs, bake bread, sew, make medicine, and teach those same skills to our children.

That kind of wealth doesn't usually get counted.

When people talk about net worth, they list retirement accounts, vehicles, jewelry, investments, and real estate.

Very few people stop to think about a pantry filled with food they preserved themselves. Or shelves lined with herbs that can become teas, tinctures, oils, and meals. Or fruit trees that will continue producing long after they're planted.

Or children who know how to grow food instead of only buying it.

Those things have value too.

Maybe more than we realize.

One of my favorite parts of gardening isn't even the harvest. It's taking vegetable scraps that most people throw away, returning them to the soil, and knowing they'll become next year's harvest. I love that almost nothing is wasted. The tomato feeds my family, the scraps feed the soil, and the soil feeds the next tomato.

That's how creation was designed to work. Sometimes I think we've forgotten that being holistic isn't only about the products we buy or the herbs we take....

It's about participating.

Participating in the care of the earth.

Participating in the care of our families.

Participating in the rhythms that Yah established from the beginning.

How can we say we love plants but never touch the soil?

How can we say we value health while remaining disconnected from the very things that sustain it?

I've never believed herbalism begins and ends with learning plants. It naturally spills into gardening because eventually you'll want fresher herbs. It spills into cooking because you'll start asking how to get more herbs onto your family's plate.

It spills into preserving because harvest season doesn't last forever. It spills into seed saving because you begin thinking about next year before this season is even over. It spills into homemaking because you realize so many things we've been taught to buy can be made with our own hands. Before long, you're building a different way of living.

That's why, I don't spend my time giving students endless lists to memorize or recipes to collect. They absolutely learn herbs, formulations, and recipes, because those things matter, but I'm much more interested in teaching them how to think.

How to observe.

How to ask better questions.

How to adapt when circumstances change.

How to see connections that other people miss.

That's why you'll find garden challenges alongside herbal challenges. You'll see lessons on preserving food, budgeting, biblical herbalism for children, homemaking, and practical life skills right alongside materia medica and body systems.

If we're serious about becoming holistic practitioners, then our lives should begin reflecting that.

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Holistic living isn't something we turn on when we're making tea. It's the way we shop. The way we cook. The way we care for the soil. The way we raise our children. The way we prepare for hard seasons. The way we share with our neighbors. The way we think about abundance.

When I look around my home, I don't just see vegetables growing or herbs drying.

I see security.

I see skills that can be passed to my children.

I see memories we've made together.

I see jars on the shelf that represent time, patience, and provision.

That kind of wealth doesn't show up on a balance sheet, but I believe it's some of the richest wealth a family can have.