The Exponential Power of Community: God’s Gift to Us

Thirteen years ago, a wonderful job opportunity opened up in New Jersey for my son-in-law, Josh. I was the most supportive mom-in-law I know—Yay, Josh!—until it became clear that he planned to take part of my precious community–our daughter, Summer, and our grandchildren–with him.

When my husband, Gary, and I were able to visit New Jersey from Oregon, we started a tradition of taking each grandkid out one at a time: hot chocolate or an ice cream cone and our undivided attention.

I was in Jersey this past week while Josh and Summer attended a conference. Now that there are six grandchildren, the logistics for one-on-ones are a bit more challenging. But I did manage to take The Teens out to dinner and hosted dates with The Littles in the playroom – one at a time – over homemade Chai tea and my undivided attention.

We kept on schedule this past week—school, chores, homework, play—and we added boisterous memories to the movie reels playing in my head. A Saturday picnic lunch. Games of Uno and Sequence. An afternoon browse through Barnes & Noble. Bacon and eggs and pancakes one evening because they love breakfast for dinner.

Our communities of people—friends and relatives, church family, writing critique group, hike/snowshoe crew, knitting posse, co-workers—will look different for each person.

This insight from Henri Nouwen:

Community is first of all a quality of the heart. It grows from the spiritual knowledge that we are alive not for ourselves but for one another.

It’s not always easy to stay connected, to give each other our undivided attention, to suffer in compassion with the team member who’s hurting. It takes a commitment of time and effort.

But the reward of belonging—of having each other’s backs, of being in service to each other—far exceeds the investment it takes to stay plugged in. 

Being the math genius that He is, God established the exponential power of community — of marriage and family and friendships and villages where we’re stronger, more fiercely loving, more resilient together than on our own. God inspired dinner tables and gathering places where people can share food and laughter and love and wisdom because He knew we would need each other. He knew we would be better together.

And now I’m sitting in an east coast terminal, waiting to board a plane back to Oregon, and reflecting on the thirteen years that have flown past since Josh took Summer and the two grandkids to the Far East.

Thirteen years since I knew we’d only get to see them maybe once a year, if that.

Thirteen years since four more grands were added to the family.

Thirteen years since I was sure these added family members wouldn’t know me if we only got together once a year.

But I was wrong.

Because, although Gary and I couldn’t afford to get on a flight very often, we Skyped and FaceTimed these people regularly. Cost: Free, as in zero dollars. And when we did get to visit, we set aside sacred time alone with each grandkid, the gift of undivided attention, the gift of letting them know how really and truly important they are to us.

Cancer took Gary home to heaven, and my relationship with each of these kiddos continues to grow stronger. But that didn’t happen all by itself. Our people are irreplaceable. But oftentimes we don’t fully realize this until it’s too late. I know this from experience.

Life on this Tilt-a-Whirl globe guarantees that we won’t always have the people we love here with us. Guaranteed.

And so maybe we should stay connected in whatever way we can. Here. Maybe we should invest the time, the effort, the inconvenience. Now.

And see if the dividends don’t pay exponentially beyond all expectation.