The call of community

I am still pondering on this concept of “Community”. It is certainly not new in my thoughts, just more to the top of the list lately. As I begin to take inventory of my “community”, I find that the boundaries are defined differently for different relationships but there are common threads throughout the whole community. For example, I may not be called to have a ministry to the metro inner city, but I do have a call to have a heart for hurting people. That heart for hurting people knows no geographical boundaries. Within my geographical area, however, there are hurting people on every level of life. There are happy poor people and there are unhappy millionaires. There are healthy homeless people and there are sick people living the life of luxury in mansions. Psalms 68:6 says “God sets the lonely in families”. You and I may be asked today to be family for someone who has no other family. I not only have a responsibility to be community today for others, but also I have a need to seek out community for myself in the place where I am planted.

I close my blog this morning with the following story from an unknown source. This is a wonderful illustration of what I am talking about: I plan to use it in my Mother’s day message later this spring.:

The Greatest Occupation
A few months ago, when I was picking up the children at school, another mother I knew well rushed up to me. Emily was fuming with indignation. It seemed she had just returned from renewing her driver's license at The County Clerk's office. Asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation, Emily had hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. "What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job, or are you just a..."

"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."

"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation...'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically. I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high-sounding title like "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."

"And what is your occupation?" she probed. What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations." The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pompous pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already have four credits (all daughters). "Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are in satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model (6 months) in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.
I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another mother."