All about the Village, People

Sister, brother, let your village love you.

A year and a half ago, the unthinkable happened to my family.  What my husband and I had thought was a minor ailment – a persistent cough, chest pressure, and difficulty swallowing at times – turned out to be a tumor the size of a dollar bill in my husband’s chest, putting pressure on his heart and compressing his airways. 

In the days leading up to and following his scans and biopsy, confirming that it was in fact cancer, we felt like we were in the eye of a hurricane.  Life was simultaneously so deathly quiet and still, and yet the storm raged all around us and barreled through us at the speed of a bullet train.

For 6 months, we lived in 3-week cycles of chemo, hospital stays, no immune system, and middle of the night trips to the ER.  [It felt like] we caught literally every bug that went around and when you have no immune system, every fever is potentially life-threatening.

Our village was literally the only reason that we made it through those 6 months.

They delivered meals, babysat at the drop of a hat, sent groceries, cleaned our house, and rallied around us with prayer and encouragement.

At many points in time, friends and strangers stood in the gap for me, and held me up, when I didn’t have what it took to keep going.  

I will never be able to repay the kindness that we received, but each time I am given the opportunity, I am committed to trying.

Each time, I encounter a new mom, I volunteer to bring a meal or coordinate meals if no one else is.  When someone is grieving or struggling or sick, I always offer care in timely, tangible, and practical ways.  I try to show up, to actually pray, and to find the language that someone else needs to communicate encouragement.  Because I have received much, I long to be able to draw near others in their times of need.

It is an intimate, beautiful blessing, to be able to walk alongside, and have others walk alongside you.

And yet, I am constantly amazed at how many times people say no.

I think there are probably a few reasons for this – as a society, we are not used to being vulnerable or known in our darkest moments. 

We are insta-perfect, rather than real and messy. 

We don’t want to burden others.

Sometimes we don’t even know what we need. 

Sometimes it’s just hard to articulate what’s happening or what we need. 

And sometimes we fear that people offer help frivolously, without real intention to follow through, or because they don’t know what else to say when we’re hurting.

And yet, these same people often times find themselves hurting invisibly, grieving alone, and unable to carry the load all by themselves.  

My friends, we are not meant to grieve [or rejoice] alone.

I say this with all the love and gentleness in the world, but I think we need to hear it.  When you offer help, do so genuinely.  Do not offer if you do not intend to follow through.  We must be people of integrity.

And when someone offers help, allow them to come alongside you.  

If they offer, trust that they want to help. 

Say yes, and trust that they are being genuine.  Be honest about what you need – and what you don’t – but please, for love’s sake, say yes. 

My dearest friend, Annie, told me when we were at the very beginning of our journey that God is near the brokenhearted. In times of deepest sorrow, we see God the most clearly.  God is near those who are walking the valley of darkness.  And by allowing others to draw near to you, you are not burdening them, but you are allowing them to be nearer to the tangible presence of God.

Trust that help is not pity, but don’t be proud.  Receive the good gift that it is, and when you are able, you will have plenty of opportunities to pay it forward.

It is a gift to be able to love someone.  It is pleasing to be able to aid someone in their time of need.  And by saying yes to strangers, you actually keep yourself from overburdening anyone.

Our American culture teaches us a lot about self-sufficiency, and standing on our own two feet – both of which are tremendously beneficial in their right place. But it does a terrible job in teaching us to allow our village to surround us and care for us in our times of need.  And as a result, it often times leaves us feeling isolated and alone.

Even this week, I had a rough week and on Wednesday a friend offered to help me out by watching my daughter for a few hours.  But I said no, even though she offered genuinely, and it would have been really helpful – I just felt like I should be able to handle it on my own.  That is the isolating myth that our American culture perpetuates - you should be able to handle everything on your own.

We need to learn the humbleness of trusting others in our vulnerable moments.  To be seen by another – stranger or friend – when you are at your low point, is truly a unique experience.  It is vulnerable and feels risky.  But so is all of love.  And the beauty that arises from true community will transform you in ways that you could never imagine.

Everyone wants a village - but to truly have a village, you have to say yes to letting your people help you, love you, and see you.  

You have to say yes when they offer to be your village.

say YES

Maybe you've heard of the new trend - to chose a word for your New Year, rather than making ambitious resolutions.  Originating in 2006, according to some sources, from Ali Edwards "One Little Word Project," its popularity spans from Melinda Gates to Christian bloggers, to a twitter movement.  I'm not typically a bandwagon-eer, but there is something appealing to me in the simplicity of a single word that reminds me of who I am and how I want to live out the year. 

So for 2019, I am jumping on ye olde wagon, and selecting the word "YES" for my word.

[Apparently Shonda Rhimes already did this, and wrote a book about it, but I'm not going for originality here, and I would be thrilled if my year of yes was halfway as exciting as hers.]

Yes, because as I thought about the things that I wanted to live into this year, it kept coming up as a theme... I wanted to laugh more, I wanted to go on more adventures and be more spontaneous, I wanted to take more risks, I wanted to stop feeling small, I wanted to believe that I was/am enough, I wanted to live life more fully, I wanted to build deeper friendships, I wanted to stop being afraid, I wanted to see healing happen in various areas of my life, and on and on. 

And it didn't feel like those things were inaccessible to me - but it often felt like I simply chose otherwise, whether out of fear, or "logic", or need for security.  I say no to things that are life-giving, and continue to trudge away under unnecessary loads of life-sucking ish.  And I'm tired of it.

This year has been a hard one for me - in different ways than the previous one, when we went through the active part of Jon's cancer journey.  That year was exhausting, devastating, and focused on one purpose and goal - it was a marathon, where we put our heads down and ran and did whatever we had to do to survive.  This year has been one of recovery, and realizing just how battered and bruised I was.  It has been one of emptiness, scars, and grief for losses that I wasn't able to grieve then.  Of realizing just how much fear I let in, and how small my world had to become, and how messy I was am. I told Jon the other night, I feel like a hollow shell of myself, no longer able to laugh, struggling to feel like me.  I feel shut down, guarded, and small - doubtful of myself, very keenly aware of the ways that fear, anger, and sadness have a foothold. 

And yet, I know that this is not who I am, if for no other reason than that I remember...  I remember who I am (the good work that God has begun in me is not finished, nor was it in vain).  I remember seasons where I have lived into who I am.  I know what it feels like to be content in my own skin.  I remember what it feels like to feel full and abundant and able to welcome others into a contented presence.  Two steps forward, one step back.  I am continually on the same journey, to be a woman with peace in my presence, a woman who knows who she is, and knows that she is called beloved.

The other night, we watched Moana with the kids and I was struck by (((spoiler alert))) the moment when Moana realizes that the lava monster Te Ka is actually Te Fiti, beloved goddess of the islands, robbed of her heart.  As she walks towards her, she sings

"They have stolen the heart from inside you

But this does not define you

This is not who you are

You know who you are"

I resonate with Te Ka, and the sense of loss (and fear of loss) turning me into a version of myself that I don't always recognize, a hollow shell of the bold, life-loving, adventure-seeking woman that I am and long to be again.   But just as the waters part, and Moana restores the heart of Te Fiti, so too, God promises to turn our hearts of stone back into hearts of flesh.  To remind us of who we are, and bring us yet again into the spacious place. 

So YES, is my way of saying "I will receive."  No, I will not be cowed by fear anymore. 

There have certainly been seasons when I, being the type A driven personality that I am, have needed to say no more.  Where I've needed to do less so that my identity is not based on what I succeed (or fail) in.  In the past, I have needed to cut back drastically in order to focus on rest and purpose and intentionality in my yeses - giving my Best Yes, as it were. 

But this doesn't feel like one of those seasons.  It feels like a season where the invitation is to say yes to life - in some cases with reckless abandon, in others, with intentionality and measured hope.  To expect more, of myself, and others.  To assume yes, rather than preempt a no.  To be open, rather than closed.  To intentionally move out of the bunker and into a wider, fresher place.  Sure there are other words that could describe this as well - more, open, adventure, life, to name a few.  But YES gives me simple guidance, it gives me a starting place, and it indicates a heart-openness that I want to grab hold of.

In some ways, it's a reset button. An invitation into a more spacious place...

I'm expecting it to feel uncomfortable and foreign.  I'm expecting to fail often in saying yes (already have).  But even just in the past three days, having this word in the back of my mind has altered the ways that I respond, on a gut level to different people, opportunities, adventures and invitations - and I'm excited to see where it goes from here.