"It takes a village". We have all heard that phrase that is touted as an African proverb. I admit that when I was in the pre-parenthood phase of my life, I disagreed with it. Why would I need other people to help me raise my child? If I couldn't step up and do this on my own then I had no right to be bringing a child into the world. This young creature was my flesh and my responsibility. Period.
Then I had a baby and all that "I don't need a village" crap went right out the window, along with napping, going to the bathroom in peace, being able to form a complete thought, and fitting back into my pre-preggie pants.
The truth is, all across the globe, women help each other in motherhood. Villagers help each other. From the rice paddies of Thailand to the mountainous regions of Tibet. In the hills of North Dakota to the winding river Nile. Women are woven together like a maternal tapestry that spans generations and geographic locations. We rely on each other and the support we give each other is essential to effective and healthy parenting.
The women in my life are villagers. The men in my life are villagers too. Some of these villagers play a bigger part in the day to day life we lead, and others' roles are small. However, despite the heft of their roles, they are all valued.
For some, they were there the minute my children were born and I would trust them with their lives. I know that no matter what, the structure of our inner village is strong and sturdy. These villagers are there for the long haul. They have been and ever will be living life with our family every day and in every circumstance. They are villagers bound to us by a bond that transcends all distance and time.
Others have come into our village when we needed advice and guidance on topics that lasted days, weeks, or months. They were visitors, if you will, to our village. They brought with them specialized expertise that our small intimate village was lacking. They brought grace, support, and outside perspective. The brought supplies and techniques that were foreign to us. They stayed for a while and then went on their way, but we celebrate them in our small village and talk about what our lives would be like without their contribution.
I am so thankful for the villager who mentioned to me that I might want to get my son's vision checked. And I am also thankful for the villager who diagnosed my, then four year old, son with a 'lazy eye'. Had it gone undiagnosed much longer, it would have been irreversible. My son would have been legally blind in one eye. How could I the mother who tucked this small child in at night and kissed his war wounds miss such a thing? How could not know that my own child saw two of me? Without these villagers, who knows what the outcome of my son's vision would have been. These villagers had value and purpose.
I am ever so grateful for the villager who took my fearful, then six year old, son off to the side of his very first hockey game when he was wracked with sobs and paralyzed with fear. This villager saw the need to use humor and focus with my son one on one. He didn't have to do it, but he was part of the bigger picture, saw a need, and stepped in when my son needed the support of someone other than his mom. He was a part of our village, and filled a need that day.
In am forever indebted to the villager who took my daughter in at age five months, when my cherub could barely sit up, and nurtured her while I was working. Day in and day out, this villager loved my girl for nearly four years as her own flesh and blood. She is forever bound to our village and has a special place in our hearts.
Our pediatrician, dentist, pastor, neighbors, church, and teachers all form the outlying village that my children live in. They interact with these villagers and although they don't sit at our dinner table with us each night, it doesn't mean that their involvement in my children's lives is any less important. They are just needed in different capacities and span different time frames.
I think back to my pre-parenthood way of thinking and laugh at how high and mighty I thought I was. To think I could do the hardest job on the planet all by myself? Nope. For when we live in a village we are stronger. Like a physical village we are closer. We are there to huddle together and form a break against the storms of life. We offer warmth and support. We offer guidance and experience. I would much rather navigate what comes my way, with others standing by me side by side. I am a villager through and through.
Then I had a baby and all that "I don't need a village" crap went right out the window, along with napping, going to the bathroom in peace, being able to form a complete thought, and fitting back into my pre-preggie pants.
The truth is, all across the globe, women help each other in motherhood. Villagers help each other. From the rice paddies of Thailand to the mountainous regions of Tibet. In the hills of North Dakota to the winding river Nile. Women are woven together like a maternal tapestry that spans generations and geographic locations. We rely on each other and the support we give each other is essential to effective and healthy parenting.
The women in my life are villagers. The men in my life are villagers too. Some of these villagers play a bigger part in the day to day life we lead, and others' roles are small. However, despite the heft of their roles, they are all valued.
For some, they were there the minute my children were born and I would trust them with their lives. I know that no matter what, the structure of our inner village is strong and sturdy. These villagers are there for the long haul. They have been and ever will be living life with our family every day and in every circumstance. They are villagers bound to us by a bond that transcends all distance and time.
Others have come into our village when we needed advice and guidance on topics that lasted days, weeks, or months. They were visitors, if you will, to our village. They brought with them specialized expertise that our small intimate village was lacking. They brought grace, support, and outside perspective. The brought supplies and techniques that were foreign to us. They stayed for a while and then went on their way, but we celebrate them in our small village and talk about what our lives would be like without their contribution.
I am so thankful for the villager who mentioned to me that I might want to get my son's vision checked. And I am also thankful for the villager who diagnosed my, then four year old, son with a 'lazy eye'. Had it gone undiagnosed much longer, it would have been irreversible. My son would have been legally blind in one eye. How could I the mother who tucked this small child in at night and kissed his war wounds miss such a thing? How could not know that my own child saw two of me? Without these villagers, who knows what the outcome of my son's vision would have been. These villagers had value and purpose.
I am ever so grateful for the villager who took my fearful, then six year old, son off to the side of his very first hockey game when he was wracked with sobs and paralyzed with fear. This villager saw the need to use humor and focus with my son one on one. He didn't have to do it, but he was part of the bigger picture, saw a need, and stepped in when my son needed the support of someone other than his mom. He was a part of our village, and filled a need that day.
In am forever indebted to the villager who took my daughter in at age five months, when my cherub could barely sit up, and nurtured her while I was working. Day in and day out, this villager loved my girl for nearly four years as her own flesh and blood. She is forever bound to our village and has a special place in our hearts.
Our pediatrician, dentist, pastor, neighbors, church, and teachers all form the outlying village that my children live in. They interact with these villagers and although they don't sit at our dinner table with us each night, it doesn't mean that their involvement in my children's lives is any less important. They are just needed in different capacities and span different time frames.
I think back to my pre-parenthood way of thinking and laugh at how high and mighty I thought I was. To think I could do the hardest job on the planet all by myself? Nope. For when we live in a village we are stronger. Like a physical village we are closer. We are there to huddle together and form a break against the storms of life. We offer warmth and support. We offer guidance and experience. I would much rather navigate what comes my way, with others standing by me side by side. I am a villager through and through.
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