Village

I have a village.
It is comprised of people who were once strangers – each of them, near or far, contributing to the functioning of our family. As for the closest, Ms. Barbara is my eighty-one-year neighbor who loves Jesus, wine and my kids. Although we only met two years ago, my children call her grandma. She brings them cookies and cake, offer them soda when they visit, and she swoons over how beautiful and tall they are if she hasn’t seen them in a day or two. I make it a point to visit with her once a week and when I do, Barbara and I sit in her sunroom and unveil through our stories. If it’s in the morning, we trail through our memories and connect our lives over a cup of coffee, and if it’s in the afternoon, we unveil between sips of wine.

On the outskirts, our church and community is a smorgasbord of teachers and professors. Sharon is a Professor of Mathematics at a local college. When Algebra 1 prickles my brain, I inhale and remember that Sharon is a phone call away. She is consumed with joyance and willing to assist Zuri in the area I am challenged. Before Hurricane Michael, Misti and I homeschooled our kids together on Fridays. With her house on the outskirts of Camp Helen, overlooking Lake Powell, we cram a great deal into one day. Misti guides the children into an IEW ( Institute for Excellence in Writing) lesson, I teach a cooking class that doubles as lunch around a table with real plates. After lunch, Misti guides them into Nature Studies and when her husband, a doctor by a day and fisherman in his free time, returns home from the office or his latest catch, the children gather around him for a lesson on centrifugal force, an experiment on velocity or the dissection of a fish. Ms. Carolyn lives in a lovely beach house a few minutes from us. Every Tuesday morning, my husband drives our three children to her house for piano lessons. When they are done with their lessons, she brings them to lunch at either Chick Fil A or Davids New Orleans Style Cafe & Sno- Balls. (For the record, they serve the best Shrimp Po Boy I have ever eaten).

In the distance, there is Stacy Lee. She is my children’ book fairy and Christmas list stalker. Within the past several years, we have moved quite a few times, but no matter where we are – Atlanta, Sacramento, or Panama City Beach – Stacy orders books and send them to us. Although I have only heard about Christmas list in song or in the movies, Stacy was the first person to ask for my children’s Christmas list – her gifts are usually the first ones under our tree. A few weeks before Christmas, Stacy celebrates Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights. She introduced it to us five years ago and each year via text of all the candles aflame in her house, I am reminded to celebrate with her. This year, our family turned off the lights, lit candles and prayed a simple prayer she sent us:
From truth lead us to truth
From darkness lead us to lights
From death lead us to immortality
Om Peace, Peace. Peace.

As you celebrate this Christmas season, may you reflect upon your own village – the people near and far who have contributed to your life this year. May you reach out to say thank you and wish them well
…And may your life and theirs be filled with PEACE.