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.