Missing the village...

When I grew up we went to church on Sunday morning and Sunday night. After worship on Sunday morning, we always went out to eat with a big ol' bunch of people from church. After the service on Sunday night, we'd have a big ol' bunch of people from church over for dessert.

On Wednesday nights, we'd have supper at church (they were Wednesday night suppers, not Wednesday night dinners... love the South!) followed by Bible study for the kiddies and youth and prayer meeting for the grown ups. On Saturday nights the youth group would head to New Life Camp for their Saturday Night Specials.

Periodically we'd have a lock-in. OK, rarely. I think we exhausted the youth leaders. The youth would go on a weekend retreat here and there. We had hayrides and movie nights and skating. And we were at Bible study AT LEAST once a week every week.

There was a sign up list for altar flowers and nursery duty got assigned to everyone in the church who could hold a baby or chase a toddler. The same men had been ushers since Methuselah's day, I suppose. I never remember anyone else ushering.

A large brick wall separated the front churchyard from the street. We'd walk across the top of the wall, but if anyone dared jump from the wall to a tree branch, their momma'd hear about it in less than a minute and there'd be a humdinger of a talkin-to on the way home in the car. Not only did everyone know each other and each other's kids and each other's mommas and daddys, but also each other's grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins who visited from out of town periodically.

If we weren't at church on Sunday, people knew we were sick or visiting relatives. We always took Sunday clothes to the beach and felt like we'd sinned if we didn't go to some sort of service on Sunday morning.

Church and our church family were central to our lives.

Not now. And that makes me sad.

Church is huge and well-run. As our pastor said on Sunday, we have flow-charts and ministry models to rival major corporations. What we don't have, though, and what I miss most is the feeling of family.

We do, however, have one particular family we've gotten to know over the past couple of years through, of all things, school sports. Known them for years at church, but not like we know each other now. Our younger children play together while our older children compete together. One day our little guys disappeared and we caught a glimpse of them trying to scale a chain link fence. The dad of that family started walking (briskly) to investigate. As he walked he said, "They better not be ... or they'll be in trouble." I yelled, "Hey, be my village. Whatever you tell your boys, let mine know he's in for the same." It was a vague reference to the saying, "It takes a village to raise a child." A little funny because that is also the title of a former first lady's book. Even more funny since we're not particularly fans of hers. And yet it is oh-so-true.

Their family and ours, we joke about it now. Anytime one of us is watching the other's kids, we say, "Be my village." Sometimes that means one of us will call down a little one for misbehaving. Sometimes it means we will cheer our lungs out at the finish line for each other's kids. Always it means we will come together and care about people even though they don't live under our roof.

I'm grateful for our small "village," and I wish it were bigger. I wish our church now could be a family like our church was when I was growing up. Of all the things I miss from childhood, I think I miss the "village" most.