I’ll admit, I never really liked the phrase, it takes a village, primarily because of who is usually credited for saying it. For some, it carries with it a belief that the state and not parents should be responsible for children. For others, it just means we all need each other. For me, now, it means God is using others to care for me. So I don’t mind it as much any more. Though I prefer, ‘it takes a body’ meaning the whole body of Christ working together, each doing its own part, can be His hands and feet and eyes and heart hear on earth.
It takes people sending me encouraging messages and verses like this.
Praying this for you today: “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.” Isaiah 26:3-4
It’s not just my own local church. It’s people from all over the world, praying for us, supporting us, loving us. It’s also, not only Christians or even religious people who have been there for us, to serve us and encourage us and help us make it through.
Right now, the biggest support is of course my sister Ariel, who has given up her Fall Semester to be with us. Not only is she cleaning and making sure we eat and locking the door, she also just gives me something to look forward to. I’m not alone. I have a friend to go places with and do things with. I wouldn’t be where I am in this journey if she wasn’t being the responsible one so that I could grieve and pray and cry and ready and write and think.
But as I was sitting in church Sunday morning, I had this strong feeling of being surrounded by people who are stepping up to be the hands and feet of Christ to me.
I was reading encouraging verses off note cards that one friend wrote for me and glanced up to see her sitting across the room. And then I saw the couple who had just installed the washer and dryer for one of the refugee families that Shah really wanted to help get a washer and dryer. I saw a man who has just experienced the loss of his spouse who is on this journey as well. I saw the lady who had watched Zoya for me the day before so that I could get some things done. When I broke down, another woman brought me tissues and rubbed my back. I saw someone sitting close who I knew was going to brighten my week by coming for dinner. A friend who had brought her boy over to play with us was watching Zoya in the nursery. Others who have brought me food and spoken encouraging words, peppered the room.
Church is hard. We had talked about me going alone sometimes while he worked, but it had never happened. Sharing peace and communion were also special for us, even when one of us had spent most of the service in the lobby with Zoya, we never missed doing that together.
But church is also good. Even if I spend a year sitting in the back, crying, it is good to be there. It is good to be with the body.