So What if We Need Community

 When I was in high school literature class (aren't you amazed I can remember back that far?) we were discussing the poem, "No Man is an Island" by John Donne. Our teacher was trying to get us to understand what it meant, but his requests for deep thought were left empty by our juvenile disinterest. I remember it today because he tried so hard for us to understand the meaning of the poem, that we all need each other. Humans do not thrive separated from each other.

I follow, along with 52,000 others,  Jess Connolly on Instagram (@jessaconnolly). She's the coauthor of Wild and Free, a book I started reading last summer and misplaced but am confident will show up at the perfect time when I need to hear what it says. Ask me how I know this.  But, here's my point. Last weekend Jess ran her first marathon. At mile 14 she called her husband in tears, and many of her friends changed their plans to run with her, to support her in this fearful, difficult place.

She spoke aloud the lies Satan was whispering, "You are so needy."

"You are so emotionally weak."

"You can't do anything alone and you always need help."

She continues in her reflection on Instagram, "After a few miles and a lot of prayers, the Lord stirred up some truth in me. So what? So what if you were made for community?"

Yes! So what? We all need community. We are not designed to live life on our own.

When I first started this blog and titled it Running my Race after the verse in Hebrews, my friend Wendy shared with me a story about a middle school boy who was struggling to finish his race at a track meet. A group of kids joined him and encouraged him to finish. She said she doesn't remember hearing the cheers for the first place finisher, but everyone cheered for this selfless act of support by his teammates. We shouldn't need to run our races alone.

A single lady in my bible study moved for the second time in a few months. She agonized about asking for help, again. She wanted to do it all by herself, but the reality of her overwhelming task wouldn't allow her. She reached out to our pastor, and he organized a few guys to help, including himself. She felt utterly grateful. Yet, if I asked the guys who helped, they probably felt equally blessed. Yes, it was inconvenient. It was hard work. Still, something about helping someone lighten her load just a little bit lifts a person's spirits, too.

We all need each other.

My community did the heavy lifting when I was in the midst of my cancer treatment. My family would have suffered more than they already were if I was too prideful to ask for help. Sometimes, we need to risk and do the asking. Other times, we hear the need and run alongside someone to encourage them through that dark place. Both parts are essential.

Besides my bible study groups, I'm also a part of a prayer group. These families have become my family as we pray for each others kids, marriages, extended families, work, you name it. We officially meet once a month, have dinner and pray for each other, but that connection continues throughout the month as we send out prayer requests anytime, knowing our friends will stop and pray for that need. These are the type who would drop everything and run with me if I needed help on my 14th mile.

What about you? Do you have a community, someone to run along side when you are weary or fearful or bone-tired? Sometimes finding that group is difficult. It takes risk. I remember talking with one of the ladies who had planned on joining our Sunday morning bible study. She was nervous, never having done anything like this before, afraid she didn't know enough of the bible to fit in. I encouraged her. She risked. The whole group welcomed her, like they do every new person who joins. Now that she has been attending for several months, it is clear she has given us all more than we ever gave her. That's the beauty of being part of a community.

No man is an island. So what if we need help to run our race. We are meant for community. Where can you find yours today?

Introvert Musings

It began with a comment  about how the tortilla chips were gluten free, and ended by talking chemo, hair and ports. A pretty typical trip to the grocery store, right?

 A couple of weeks ago, I was out running errands and stopped into Central Market for a few groceries. After loading up my cart with bulk spices, vegetables and tortilla chips, I randomly chose a line. Soon I listened in on a gregarious cashier interacting with what I could only assume was a dear friend of hers.

Yet, when she switched to me and scanned my tortilla chips, she began telling me how she was now off gluten and on the lookout for more gluten free products.  Then she casually mentioned being on chemo two years ago and gaining so much weight, and having stomach problems and trying to stay off gluten, all while expertly scanning and bagging my groceries. I jumped in and asked her what kind of cancer she had. It was breast cancer.

We chatted about hair loss and how it returned differently from our original hair. She asked me if I had problem with my port site, and I told her it was still tender even after four years. She mentioned how she has had a few scares, minor things that made her worry. I encouraged her that as time passes for me, my level of panic decreases whenever I feel a new ache. I try to remember to notice it briefly, but not dwell on it unless it hangs around.  The farther I am away from my diagnosis, I told her, the less I think about cancer coming back. You'll get there, I encouraged.

She smiled and thanked me. I told her that her hair was beautiful and congratulations for the two years she is past cancer. She wished me a good day and hoped to see me again.

I did stop in the store this week and saw her in action again, same smile, same sweet spirit. I chose a different line this time, mostly because it was shorter, but it might have been that I wanted to be anonymous that day. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever wanted to get in and out and not interact with anyone? If you said no, then you definitely are not an introvert.

Some days my introvert tendency comes on strong. Last week I was home several days in a row, no appointments, no errands to run, just me and my keyboard and books. (And the million other household duties that I try to put off until I get some writing in.)  I got it into my mind that I would pack up my computer and hang out in the library or a coffee shop. I exchanged my usual yoga pants with some actual street clothes. After the kids left and I finished my bible study, I packed up. I borrowed Ben's laptop, since it's smaller, remembered my thumbdrive and notes, pens and highlighters. Since I had a few books at the library on the hold shelf, I thought I'd start my day out there.

For a weekday morning, I was surprised the library was so crowded. Of course, this is one of my frequent stops, but I usually don't look for a table to occupy. None of the tables were empty. I found one table with only one other person, but that day I wasn't in the mood to share.  I decided to check out the nearby Starbucks.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed so many cars. Driving around to the front of the shop, I peeked into the windows and saw an uninterrupted row of heads. That probably meant the only available place would be at the large table in the middle, and, well, you know how I felt about sharing space that day.

I considered driving to another place, but the idea of the quiet of my house, a desk to myself, my own coffee with organic milk I can create into a sort of latte (not as good as a coffee shop, but good enough for me) kept me driving. I pulled into my garage, unloaded my bookbag and unpacked it in my living room.  This is where I found my sweet spot.

Somedays I wish I were more like my extrovert friends. They have the ability to find people and hear their stories and be able to encourage them. A friend of a friend, a man battling stage 4 colon cancer, often shares on Facebook about his interactions with people in the waiting room or the treatment chair next to him. He is not afraid to ask people if he can pray for them, right then and there, either. How encouraging would that be? Most of the conversations I've had while receiving treatment have been because someone else initiated them. 

I do have my moments. When I know I need to be outgoing, I can turn it on. This Friday I am going to a business dinner with Walt,  and I'll put on a nice dress and fill my mind with ideas for conversation starters. Am I the only one who needs to prepare this way? I've learned that a few open ended questions is all it takes to open up a conversation. Then I'll listen, and I'll probably find someone I was glad to have met. 

I often wonder if I did this more often, would I have more opportunities to encourage others? It's possible, but I also know that it's not my normal bent. Too much time around people usually doesn't instill in me a desire to encourage anyone. It's probably the opposite, as my kids can attest. It's taken years, but I'm okay to follow the way God has created me and not try to compare my weaknesses with others' strengths.  

My conversation at the grocery store was not my typical experience. I'm glad I had the chance to encourage the cashier, but usually my grocery stop consists of smiling, asking how they were doing, and running my card through the machine. When God opens the door, as He did when I asked the question about her cancer, I've experienced wonderful connections with amazing people. I think that's the key with me. If God leads, I need to walk through the open door. Otherwise, it's okay for me to find solace in the quiet.