One Saturday morning a few weeks ago, Jeff drove to Raleigh to visit with our nephew Spencer, who had recently come north from Mississippi to take a graduate class. Both hungry, they went to a Mediterranean restaurant near Spencer’s dorm.

As they placed their orders at the counter, Jeff noticed the T-shirt worn by the young woman helping them. Bright red, it showed the silhouettes of three young people—not their faces, just their hair. Two of the figures were female. They seemed to be wearing hijabs. The young woman helping them also wore a headscarf. Jeff asked her what the drawing signified.

I need to steel myself to tell you this: the bugs seem to be winning.

Not just the bugs, but also the black rot and fungi—the very plagues for which commercial orchardists spray the chemicals thought to be killing colonies of honey bees.

This time last year, we were wandering among our apple trees, picking a meager but healthy harvest of mostly heritage fruit. It had been a difficult season, but we were hopeful. Our attempts to tend the trees sustainably seemed to be working. We’d even found a good population of beneficial insects eating bad insects our trees.

But let me go back to the very beginning.

“Service is about mutuality,” said the beautiful, bright-eyed, round-faced woman. “You can’t help anyone else unless you put yourself on their level.”

I’d heard the same sentiment voiced by many people who are in the business of helping others. It’s true, but it’s much easier to say than to do.

What struck me about this woman’s remark was the simple joy with which she said it. She wasn’t lecturing, just stating fact: Everyone knows we’re all the same, broken or whole, homeless or housed. That’s what makes the work so meaningful.

She had reason to know what she was talking about. She was a nun.