A couple of weeks ago, I woke up early on a Sunday morning to a group text going. A friend had gone grocery shopping the night before for Sunday dinner but forgotten onions. She asked if anyone had onions they could bring to church to share. Within moments, there were a slew of volunteers, and perhaps a few promises of crashing said dinner plans. (: Later that week, we got another message, a friend's daughter needed a ride, could someone pick her up? Someone had a spot in the car, another person had a spare carseat, and another person had an extra casserole. Mom, daughter, and family were all taken care of.
This week, someone had a birthday. One person had flowers, another person cake. Someone else had a ride, card, and extra friends. With the same spontaneity as finding onions, within hours we had a girls' night put together.
These are my people. This is my village.
These are my women.
Did I mention that none of these women live near each other? Many of them share cars with spouses, have children, jobs, and community responsibilities. Yet they drop everything, drive 40 minutes to drop off flowers, sit with with a child, or help paint a new house. This is what they do and good hell do they do it well!
Last night I had the opportunity to gather with a portion of my village. We talked. We talked hard. We debated, we discussed. We cried, hard, and laughed even harder. We shared, we bonded, we formed bonds. We expanded the village. We rejoiced in one another and found strength together. We rejoiced in womanhood.
These are my people.
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