A few days before the Fourth of July (and less than two weeks before my due date for baby #6), a severe windstorm knocked down one of our favorite maple trees, sending it crashing into the swingset my husband had built. Our house was, thankfully, spared, but the clean-up loomed over our heads as we reminded ourselves that baby could come any day. Compounding the pressure was the fact that my husband was midway through repainting our basement before baby’s arrival, so our central indoor kid play area/my rocking chair zone for late nights with a fussy newborn was in complete disarray. Never have I, at thirty-eight weeks pregnant, wanted a baby to stay put more.
Thankfully, we are blessed to have amazing family and friends close by. My mother-in-law picked up a paintbrush for a few consecutive days. My husband’s friends, a neighbor, and even a friend of a friend we had never met came to help Josh clear downed branches and chainsaw a tree trunk. A few days later, the basement was basically done, our yard was nearly cleared, and I could breathe a little bit easier.
To say that I was stressed about the convergence of all of these simultaneous projects—and feeling helpless at my inability to help—is an understatement, but two days later, I found myself so grateful for those who sacrificed their pre-Fourth Friday holidays to come help us, as well as the moms who solo parented for a few hours to give their husbands time to lend a hand.
Community is something we have been richly blessed with, in particular in these last few years. We have found, and worked to build, a network of families who can count on us (and we can count on, too) when we are in need of prayers, manual labor, last-minute babysitting, and the like. Recently, I needed someone to watch most of my kids, and one of my friends took on my four youngest kids—on top of her own four children and another five that a different friend needed a hand with. (So that’s thirteen children nine and under, supervised by one super mom). Did she want to spend most of her morning making sure thirteen kids survived the day, wrecking her yard and eating all of her snacks in the process? I am assuming she didn’t, but we are close enough to know we can count on each other when emergency strikes, no questions asked.
I hear a lot of laments about people wishing “the village” still existed. And it’s true. Our parents and grandparents likely raised us near family or in a neighborhood where people watched out for each other, where like-minded families could depend on one another for childcare or a helping hand, where parents weren’t working into retirement and could be more available to help with the kids. Many of us live a distance away from family, and many of our friends are probably still a drive away, which can make the “Can I drop my kids for an hour? I have a few errands to run!” a bit trickier than it maybe used to be.
However, I also find that many people are looking for the village to be of service to them without ever serving the village in return. We may want grandparents’ help to look after our kids, but are we willing to help them by scrubbing their toilet, cooking them a meal, or swinging by just for a coffee and a chat—even when we feel we are super busy? We are so grateful for homemade postpartum meals, but do we resist signing up for a Meal Train because we can’t spend another moment in the kitchen? Are we grateful when a slew of husbands show up at our house with chainsaws but complain when our husband leaves us solo with our kids to return the favor?
Community can exist only in a symbiotic relationship. All parties involved have to be willing to give something up—time, money, energy, and maybe even sanity—to allow the village to flourish. Certainly, there are times when we can in good conscience say “no” to a request, but we have to also keep in mind that service is meant to be sacrificial. I know when I was single and childless, I felt like life was so busy, that finding time for others was impossible. I laugh at my immature perspective now, and I’m sure my life feels like a cake walk to many others. In the season we are in, we will always feel like we are coming up short because God is giving us the grace to handle exactly the crosses we are given. But we often do need to stretch ourselves a little more because, for many of us (particularly those of us with young children), serving the village might be the only acts of service outside of our family we can offer.
And we aren’t meant to go it alone. We know that Mary showed up during Elizabeth’s final months of pregnancy, despite the fact that she was perhaps experiencing the “joys” of her own first trimester. Even Jesus—who was, you know, God—depended on others and sought community with His family in the early years and the Apostles during His public ministry. And in Heaven, we know we will be part of the most epic community, the communion of Saints, where we will together be praising God’s name.
So if we are looking for a village, we can start by offering our homes in hospitality, by signing up for more Meal Trains, by keeping track of how we can pray for others (and letting them know when we do), by offering to pick up groceries when we are at the store, or by volunteering to help with tasks when we know others are in need. And if we have a village, we can continue to pour into it, knowing that these little acts are redemptive and we are making earth more as it is in Heaven.