An Update on My State of Community

Hi friends,

I felt pressured to write something funny this week. And while funny things happened (see this baking “incident”), what I really want to give you is an update on the state of my community.

(Will I ever take a normal photo? No. Definitely not.)

I am what some would call... outgoing. I like gathering people, introducing people, volunteering people for things they did not volunteer for themselves.

For a long time, I thought working an hour away meant I was spending all my energy building someone else’s community while neglecting my own.

Turns out my community has been here all along.

When I left the church, I assumed our family would have fewer opportunities for mission and service.

Wrong.

A few months ago, I met a woman named Natasha at a party full of women. Natasha is a mission machine. She runs Chai for Charity and connects people to service through schools, community programs and personal friendships.

Also, Natasha is little and loud, which makes me love her even more.

This past weekend I signed my family up for one of her projects.

I did not tell my family this until they were already in the car.

I gave them the option of coming with me or after jumping out of a moving vehicle, completing a very long list of chores at home.

Everyone came.

Even my son’s 14-year-old friend.

And when we walked into the room, my kids immediately recognized classmates. I saw friends and families I knew from around town. People I had no idea would be there.

Everyone fell into place like we'd done this a thousand times.

We helped fill 1,000 snack bags for people experiencing food insecurity right here in our community. My son and his friends immediately started competing over who could fill bags faster. Then my husband and daughter started competing. And eventually I started assigning jobs to people I barely knew.

You break down boxes.

You organize the pretzels.

Apparently I don't need a job to become management.

No church. No religion. Just a bunch of people showing up for other people.

Then something else happened this week.

We went back to church.

I could make this an entire email, and someday I probably will. But the short version is that my youngest was basically attached to me for the past many years I’ve worked for the church - her entire life.

She sang with me. Or sometimes just sat onstage like she owned the place.

She knew where to find her own microphone and knew when it wasn't loud enough. She would confidently interrupt the pastor MID-SERMON to ask a question.

She knew where the good markers were and how to find the scissors no matter how high we put them.

She knew who would give her a donut and exactly how many donuts to tell them she'd already eaten. “Just the one.”

She had a home away from home.

And when I left my job, I pulled her away from that too.

So after approximately the 100th request to go BACK to church, I nervously agreed.

I was not ready to drive an hour to visit my previous place of employment, but I was willing to walk four blocks to the Unitarian church down the street.

I brought a friend and made her promise to slap me if I accidentally volunteered for the AV team, joined the choir or took over the service.

She was fully prepared. She didn't have to.

Although halfway through the service, the AV glitched and every cell in my body screamed:

FIX IT.

When you survive on adrenaline for eight years, apparently you forget how to chill.

Friends, I forgot how to chill.

But I did it.

I sat through an entire church service without fixing anything. I didn't volunteer for anything. I didn't even look at an order of service.

Will we go back?

Probably. But not the every Sunday, become an elder, run the church kind of attendance.

My daughter liked it. My friend liked it. I liked being there without being responsible for it.

And after both of these things happened in the same week, I realized something.

I'm home. I’m really and truly home.

I've been slowly building a community here for seven years without realizing that's what I was doing.

My friends introduced me to their friends. My kids made friends and I met their parents. I run into people at the grocery store, the park, the bookstore and local festivals. I walked into a service project and already knew people in the room. I walked four blocks down the street and found another place where my daughter might belong.

Leaving my job didn't take my community away.

It gave me more time to notice the one that was already here.

— Sheila