It Takes a Village

We've all heard the African proverb, "It takes a Village to Raise a Child.". I would propose that it takes a village to travel all of life's journeys, not just child-rearing.

Not long ago a friend of mine needed to undergo a fairly major surgery. This meant she would be out of normal commission for six weeks, unable to lift her toddler or romp with her preschooler or drive her older children to and from school. The average woman, I imagine, would feel a little panicky as how to juggle these limitations, but not so my friend. She wasn't phased. She is part of a village, and she knew her village would see her through. Sure enough, before coming home from the hospital, a meal schedule was being assembled and childcare volunteers were lining up to take turns helping with the two little ones.

It wasn't long until my friend was back on her feet, offering to make a meal and watch the children of another family from our village who was recently effected by a serious illness. This member of our village, although fairly new to our community, is being visited by near strangers with offers to do laundry or run to the grocery store or bring a meal.

This is "village life" and I wouldn't want it any other way. In my village, we intertwine our lives closely. We watch one another's children when we have doctor appointments. We visit each other in the hospital. We make sure a new mother has meals delivered to her door. We pass along our gently-used clothing. We take time to listen and laugh around beers or at coffee shops or at the dinner table. And when someone falls on hard times, we may cover a mortgage payment or pass on an anonymous cash gift. When another is left broken-hearted by their spouse, we lend our ears, our hearts, our time, and our favorite family therapists. In essence, we weave a safey basket around one another. Our lives are made stronger by the presence of each other, just as a tightly woven basket can carry a large bushel of apples.

I imagine wherever in Africa this saying derived, dependence on a community was essential for survival. Though I don't know many people who are trying to physically survive, I look around me and see many a person desperately trying to survive the emotional and spiritual landscapes around them. But so many lack a "village"! After all, isn't the American Dream realized by rugged individualism, pulling oneself up with one's bootstraps and forging ahead through life's wilderness with hardly a shrared cup of water?

I, for one, don't believe life was intended to live this way. I prefer the village way of life, practiced by my African brothers and sisters and by the first followers of Jesus and by whomever else lucky enough to find a community who accepts and supports them. Perhaps this individualistic approach to life is one reason why so many Americans are on antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications. I, too, would feel lonely and afraid if wondering a wilderness on my own.

I learned yesterday of a friend outside my village who is going through a heartbreaking circumstance that will require some major survival techniques. I do not know if she is surrounded by a village. Many of the commenters on her Facebook page offered their prayers and generic offers of "let me know if you need anything." Well, I am certain this friend is going to need a lot! She will need listening ears, encouraging notes, babysitters, and much more. I hope to treat her like a village member, not waiting for her to ask for favors.

What about you? Have you been lucky enough to have found a village, too?

Football and Flowers

 "I figure God made the flowers grow; 

I might as well share them."

-wise words of the little old Amish lady whose beautiful bouquet of flowers (stuck in a reused Applesauce jar) I bought for less than $2 yesterday

Summer is rolling by!  I know it is for all of us.  Time having fun always goes too fast!  But really, once we get back from vacation in early August, I must sign our lives away to fall sports.  Forgive me if I do not sound off-the-wall excited for the new activities my children have signed up for... which only have us committed for two hours a night, five days a week (before school begins) but then cuts back to two hours a night, three days a week (after school begins).  After all, we are talking about the all-important activities of football and cheer-leading.  Yes... football... and cheer-leading.  I know, I know.  This glo-burban mama has gone All-American, and she drags her feet while doing so.  

There are several reasons I find it difficult to get excited about this new venture my children are taking.  Not only am I concerned about the obvious... that precious brain behind that silly helmet... but I am dreading the hurried evenings, the loss of family time at home, and the challenge to complete homework, dinner, practice, and showers.  And then I worry about the football and cheer-leading "culture."  You know... all the glam and glory.  The boys competing in toughness and aggression.  The girls in cute ponytails and long legs.  And did I mention that I don't even understand the game of football?  Believe me; I've tried.  But if you haven't ever watched the game, it's very boring.  Trust me.  And what if they actually like it?  What if they want to continue?  Will I lose my children to the ranks of cocky, supposedly-popular, selfish, bratty teenagers?!  ...You understand my angst.

So where does that Amish woman's quote fit in with football and cheer-leading?  Well, to be honest, I keep finding myself in places where I am being asked to loosen the apron strings I've strung to my children, and I don't find this easy. Whether it was allowing Jaida to try out the haunted house ride on the boardwalk (she surprisingly loved it!) or realizing that Dylan is developing his own taste for music (very different than my own) or dropping them off with complete strangers at Bynden Wood Day Camp this week, I feel the tug between wanting to control their decisions and knowing I need to loosen my grip.  

My children are like the Amish woman's flowers.  Can I hold them as generously as she does her beloved blooms, willing to share them with a world I cannot control?  It is a delicate task the parent is asked to do.  It does not mean giving up on guiding our children altogether.  Not at all!  The Amish woman does not cut her flowers and throw them at the edge of the road for any wanderer to carelessly pick up.  Neither do we allow our children to follow every whim and desire.  She first nurtures her flowers with tenderness and water, allowing them to blossom in whatever color and form they are created to be.  She then cuts her stems, arranges the blooms in a lovely bouquet, and lets them leave her garden and go into the hands of others who admire their beauty.  She does not own her flowers; she cannot control the growth process.  They are gifts given to her so that she may share them.  

It is the same with my children.  They are amazing gifts that I aim to nurture with loving counsel, gentle discipline, listening ears, and a trusting spirit.  They are not mine, though.  How differently we treat our children when we remember that!  

The Amish woman's words keep repeating themselves in my head as I wonder what humankind would be like if we viewed all of God's creation in the same way... the oceans, the trees, the animals, "our" backyards, "our" food, the air we breathe.  

"I figure God made the flowers grow; I might as well share them."