I read recently about how thousands of cattle in Kansas died due to heat stress. They didn’t die from one day of hot temperatures, necessarily. But the persistent extreme heat and humidity that hit many parts of the country–particularly this one region in Kansas–wreaked havoc on herds.

Cattle can usually adapt to the summer heat. Studies show they’re resilient animals, but as one article told me, when there are multiple stressors involved, the animal struggles to cope. Not only that, but cattle need the lower nighttime temperatures to bring their internal temperature down. When nighttime temps are too high, they don’t release enough of their internal heat, and it continues to build and build and build, causing major problems when that cycle persists. Eventually, they can’t carry the cumulative heat load built up in their bodies. “Right now, if we don’t have night-time cooling hours, the animal won’t be starting each day at thermo-neutral, so they’re more at risk on the second or third day,” one veterinarian said.

Okay, let’s acknowledge the elephant (cow?) in the room. Yes, I’m about to compare us to cattle. My metaphor obviously breaks down pretty quickly, but bear with me…

It’s been a harder, stranger year than many of us expected. Maybe we’re entering the Christmas season exhausted and weary. Maybe we’re excited to have something to celebrate. But whatever you’re feeling, my guess is that we could all use a little hope.

This gift guide is meant to help with that.

From sweatshirts reminding us that the weary world can rejoice to shelves to display plants that bring life into our homes, each product in some way is meant help encourage, inspire, or refresh the recipient.

Purchasing these products will also help the people who make them. Aside from the books, each item comes from a small business–and even with the books, you can purchase from Bookshop.org instead of Amazon to support local bookstores. Several items also support meaningful causes like helping human trafficking victims, small family-run coffee farms, or local families in need of food.

Every night before my husband and I go to bed, we tiptoe into our kids’ rooms. We give them one last kiss, and then we straighten out their blankets and tuck the covers around them. And every single night since the twins were babies, I’ve put my hand on their backs, leaned in close, and listened for the sound of their breathing.

The habit started out of fear. For months after we brought our tiny newborns home from the hospital, I’d check on them incessantly. I’d pick them up, smell their sweet skin, and watch their chest rise and fall as they inhaled and exhaled. I needed to hold them just one more time before collapsing into my own bed for a few hours. My husband reassured me regularly, “They’re okay. They’re going to be okay,” and I knew—most likely—he was right. At the time, I didn’t think I was being an anxious parent, but looking back, I can see how fearful I really was—and often still am.