"A piece of the continent; A part of the main."

This past Christmas when coming coming back to Branson from our travels, Seth drove our minivan through the winding roads of northern Arkansas, a day earlier than we had planned--on Saturday. Our plans had changed, and we were happy to get home and happy because we would get to go to church the next day. Seth told me on that drive that whenever we are away from our church family, when we miss a service because we are traveling or are sick, he always wants to give Harvest a collective hug when we get back. That's how I feel, too.

My grandmother was visiting this week. She helped me plant flowers in the front beds and made us chicken fried steak and brought gifts for everyone. She told me that I was a good role model because I have a budget and cook vegetables and my kids go to bed early most of the time. And then she mentioned a conversation she had with another family member where she told that person, "You should be more like Kristen. Kristen doesn't have any of her family around her. She does EVERYTHING! All. By. Her. Self."

There was a time where this would have caused my chest to swell with pride. I was a highschool graduate who swore I would never call home and ask for money during college. (And I didn't.) When my cell phone broke during my mother's second divorce, I took it as a sign that God wanted me to deal with things on my own, without talking to any friends. (So that's what I did.)

Somewhere along the way I had this warped view that all I needed was me and God. He was all I should need, all I would ever need, and anyone else was a crutch.

When I had my first boyfriend in college, someone I respected asked me what I liked about him. "He makes me happy," I replied. "Well, that's not good," was his response. "That's being codependent."

Thus my ascetic loneliness continued... Need is weakness. Asking for help means I don't have enough faith. Wanting relationships means there is a void in my relationship with God.

I don't know where we got this idea that we need to do things all. by. our. selves. But we need to get rid of it. It is not true; it is not good; it does not work. It makes us impatient and boastful and cruel to ourselves. It breeds envy, makes us rude, and holds us in dark, damp, moldy places of shame. We were not created to live alone. It truly takes a village.

And when I say, "It takes a village," what I really mean is, "It takes a church." 

A group of people who care for one another. Who are selfless and invested and mindful of one another's needs. Who continually point one another back to truth and light and grace.

My grandmother was wrong. I told her so.

"I DON'T do everything by myself. I have a lot of help. Seth and I do everything together. I have lots of friends who help me all the time. And we have our church."

Who was it that said, "No man is an island?" Bon Jovi? Just kidding! (This is an About a Boy quote, if you don't know.) It was John Donne. We memorized it in high school. I was too busy being alone back then to understand what it means:

No man is an island entire of itself; every man 
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; 
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe 
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as 
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine 
own were; any man's death diminishes me, 
because I am involved in mankind. 
And therefore never send to know for whom 
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. 

I don't know the balance of things; I truly don't. I still struggle quite a bit with the question of what it means to strive to be a good wife and mother--to accept affirmation, but to know my worth is grounded in Christ. Likewise, I don't always know how to accept failure gracefully, knowing that it doesn't determine how much I am loved. --what does it mean to be in community but not be codependent? How can you have needs and express them, but not be defined by others? How can I shield myself from hurt and yet be vulnerable? I don't know all the answers. I still thrash around with those questions on a very regular basis.

But I do know that a healthy community is one who strives to wrestle these questions together. And I am so happy to be a part of one. And so....

To all the teachers who impart wisdom and knowledge, and the people who plan the service to bring us together, show us ourselves, turn us to God, speak forgiveness. To the people who teach our children, and turn on the lights, and work the sound, and clean the carpets. To all the ladies who bring meals when ALL THE BABIES are born, and throw showers, and crochet sweaters and blankets and hats. To the older couple who sits down with us and talks us through that argument that keeps surfacing in our marriage, the mentors, the friends who go out for coffee and don't bat an eye at our real-ness, our vulnerability, the things we were ashamed to say out loud. To the people who serve every day of the week in the community, who prepare meals for the hungry, plant gardens for the needy, and are fathers to the fatherless.

Church, consider this your collective hug.