It’s Not Easy to Build a Village — But It’s Worth It

I love the saying “it takes a village to raise a child”, but I may love this meme more…

Community has been over-promised and under-delivered, especially in Christian circles. Churches tout small groups to “do life together”, but there’s only awkward living room circles where everyone says the right thing, but no one is saying the real thing. I’ve been the person sitting at church while others talked around me like I was invisible. As a child I moved one time, just three miles down the road. As an adult, I’ve started over knowing absolutely no one in my community five times. Woof.

(And no we aren’t a military family.)

I heard someone say on Instagram recently that “Everyone wants a village, but no one wants to be a villager.” I feel that. It’s easy to say we value community, but it’s a lot harder to live it out. Our lives in America lean insular and independent. Opening up to community is vulnerable and scary. Will they like us? Will we be “too much”? What if we’re annoying (or our kids are annoying)?

It’s also easy to miss your village, to become locked in to online connections that we dismiss the tangible ones right in front of us. A vibrant life is both intentional and joyful. So here are some ways I’m being intentional to keep my eyes and heart open to the joy of community.

1. Walking. Walking brought me into the heart of my literal village, my neighborhood. On walks I meet neighbors and puppies. I rarely walk with headphones in because on walks I’m trying to calm the noise not increase it, but I also have noticed it opens me up for more interactions. More genuine “Hello” and “How are you?” and “I love that plant you got growing there!”
2. Saying yes. When people ask us over—we say yes. When people say “hey you wanna grab lunch after church?—we say yes. We’re almost always down for an impromptu game night or s’mores roast. Would things be easier if we stayed home, chilled, and got the kids to bed at a reasonable hour instead? Sure. But we’d miss so much and we want to be open to community, even if it’s not the easy way. People are complicated; “doing life together” is inefficient. But it’s worth it.
3. Having people over. This goes along with saying yes. We are habitual party-throwers, come-on-over-ers, play date-ers. I’m okay with serving leftovers or frozen pizza. I’m okay with awkwardly asking for people’s numbers or sending the friend request on Facebook. I’m okay with the house not being pristine. I’m okay inviting people into our real, messy life.
4. Asking for help. So many people want to be there for you—more than you think. In this season of cancer and need it’s been amazing seeing so many people lean in close to help us. But they wouldn’t have that opportunity if we weren’t okay with being helped.Help necessitates proximity, which in turn builds community. To me helping is the doorway from surface-level friendship to next-level. It says not only do I like you, but I want to give and receive care and loyalty from you. I want to count on you to come through for me and I want to be there for you in the same way (friendship is a two-way street of helping and care).
5. Being okay with rebuilding your village. One of the most bittersweet parts of my life is the villages I have built and then left behind. And yes, you can still stay connected (thanks to texting, social media, Facetime), but a long-distance village is going to come up short.

Even if you never relocate, your village will shift. Friends will move away, priorities no longer align, life seasons shift, jobs change. The average length of a friendship in the U.S. is 7 years. Villages are always rebuilding and rearranging.

So you never get a pass on putting yourself out there, investing in others, and loving well.

The Lord is trustworthy with our communities. We don’t need to clench them tight in our fists, instead we can live open-handed. Delighting in the people God brings into our life for as long as they are here, and releasing them with gratitude if and when that season comes.