I visited my village Sunday morning.
I don’t see them often, maybe just two or three times a year. But when I see them, it’s like I’ve been wrapped in the comfort of my old favorite quilt.
It feels good because it feels familiar. My village knows me. And I know them.
They know me well because they know my whole family. They know my parent’s values, gifts and quirks. They know I look like my mom, I say some things like my Dad, and my voice is like my sister’s. They know I live in Texas like one brother and I speak Spanish like the other brother.
I have a long history with my village. They don’t just know a short leg of my journey, but they were voices into my life until I moved away as a young married mom. They know I like to play ping-pong, that I sweat more than any of the other girls at summer camp, and they know why I can feed a feast to a crowd. Some of my village babysat for me, then I babysat for their kids. We go a long way back.
Some of my “village” many years ago- Camp Smiley.
My village was constant. My parents showed up, and their friends showed up with all of us kids in tow. Whether it was beating the dust out of the mattresses at Camp Smiley or eating cold watermelon by the river at Carter’s camp—the village showed up. We played together and we worked together. We had many years of together.
The village that raised me had a voice of truth. Many people were voices into my spiritual formation by their words and their actions. They spoke loudly at summer camps—counselors, directors, cooks, cabin friends, bunk buddies and teammates. They spoke consistently throughout the year—Bible classes, high school devos, weekly Bible studies, VBS. And some spoke softly in the not so obvious–rides together across town, sleepovers, prayers, hugs, laughter, and even in some tension.
The village was faithful. The families that surrounded me remained faithful to God no matter what happened. And a lot happened. Their faithfulness encouraged me when I was growing up, and it continues to encourage me today.
So Sunday, when I sat with my family on the pew with my Dad, I was thinking a little more about the village that raised me than the sermon that was preached. It’s okay though, because my village lived a good sermon.
I’ll share three questions with you from the village sermon, since you were probably listening to the preached sermon–
- What kind of “village” are you surrounding your kids with? Each village will be unique, but whatever it looks like, be intentional because you won’t be the only voice in their formation.
- Are you living intentionally to be “meaningful village” in the life of other’s kids? Your voice could make a difference. The opportunities are all around you (nieces and nephews, your kids’ friends and teammates, neighbors, youth groups, mentoring programs…).
- Have you thanked your village lately? I know that I haven’t said thanks enough.
So, thanks, village! Thanks for the precious hugs on Sunday that reminded me of the years of influence you have had—and continue to have—on my life!
May we be meaningful village to the kids surrounding us today.
