I needed a break. And so I took one. Did you miss me? I missed you! I know you all are full of stories… I’m hoping you are continuing to write them!

I don’t know about you, but this time of year, my stories pile up in my head. Tall stacks of words, begging to be written—and my instinct is to avoid. It’s a by-product of being a terminal student. I’m only a year out of that world and the residuals are gleaming. I’m radio-active, people! Glowing brightly in the night, but nary a word from me. And now, everyone born before 1952 will be singing.

Total aside: speaking of Glow-worms and songs about them, and this will only make sense for those of you who spend an inordinate amount of time in church, but does anyone else think of the words to Glow-worm when they sing “Shine, Jesus, Shine?” I refuse to link the lyrics to that song on principle… google is your friend. 😀 I swear, I do. And someday, I’m going to sing Glow-worm over everyone else’s Shine! I’ll probably be 92 and they’ll blame it on my dementia. But you and I will know, deep in our hearts that I’d been planning this all along!

Here’s a little tidbit: my parents are missionaries. Most of you didn’t see that coming right? And while they went to the mission field late in life (I was in college), I grew up in an extremely religious household. Yeah, that didn’t surprise you one bit! When I was really small, my father and his best friend started a church. Which was cool. I’m not on board with their theology… but their act of purposeful community was courageous. And really, set the tone for my understanding of what community is. I’ve been judging churches and their effectiveness based on that model ever since. And here’s the thing: most of us don’t measure up.

Now, this post was supposed to be a story about my sock-puppet. I imagine my stack of stories as freshly baked cookies piled up, just waiting to be consumed. Ooey gooey chocolate chip, thank you! And the sock-puppet is the cookie on top. I’ve been thinking, and writing, and testing material on IZ. But sometimes, the cookie you want is the one in the middle of the stack. There’s just something about it. Here’s hoping that by pulling out that cookie the whole stack doesn’t come tumbling down. And sometimes, I run amok with a metaphor.

The cookie in the middle of the stack is yummy when it’s baked right. But most of us struggle with this idea of community. We are not alone. Our great teacher (and some of you would use other words, and that’s OK too!) said that loving our neighbor was a true task. A task, an effort, a command right next to loving God.

If you spend any time in helping institutions (schools, hospitals, churches, social services. . .) then you know a great deal of word power is spent talking about community. But I’m not so sure we really have any idea of what that word means. It’s a catch-phrase. It’s a way of feeling good about talking without ever doing. And it leaves people wanting. And wondering. It leaves people with shallow definitions and no way of accessing “community”. Even now, this slippery term refuses to remain in my grasp long enough to be concrete. It reminds me of another word that plays predominately in my life: Spirituality.

The problem with definitions, with being too concrete is that we risk alienating others with our outlines. I’m not interested in being that concrete, and I’m certainly not interested in alienating any of you. But as I stand here, I have to say, that in my heart I do equate “loving my neighbor” as foundational to building community—in part, because I also equate “loving my neighbor” as “loving those close to me.” This is inherently tricky—because it’s an easy leap to say that “neighbor” means “those close to me” and then stop there. I’m not advocating that! I’m not. PLEASE DO NOT HEAR THAT. It’s just that, I don’t see how you can love the world, how you can see the world as your neighbor, if you are unwilling, or unable to love those close to you.

Except, in some ways, it’s easier. Love the world… and ignore that pesky sibling who drives me nuts! Love the world, but we won’t address the constant abuse shoveled out by a spouse or a friend or a parent or… ourselves. No, loving the world is easy, because THOSE people aren’t going to criticize, injure, ignore, abuse. . .

But see, I’m not interested in loving the world so limitedly. No no no! In a world waiting to be born, which it is every year at this time, I am only interested in flinging my whole self into the fray. I can’t do that if I refuse to love my neighbor. I hold part of me in reserve by only loving the world at large. And that, dear readers, is NOT community.

It’s a risk, isn’t it? To love people who can hurt us. Because they will. They do. We hurt them, too. And damn, people, that is so sad. It breaks my heart to know how much injury I’ve caused, when deep in my heart, I only seek to love. But LOVE IS HARD. There is a reason it is called a great commandment! We don’t do it right all the time. And me, confession time, I suck at it. I don’t love with my full self. No no no no no. No. NO.

No, only parts of me get spread out in a thin layer. To those people who feel most deserving. Preferably to people who can’t hurt me. This makes me human. But it also makes me wrong.

At some point, we choose to risk love. We must. And the trick, and it’s a BIG trick, is to keep risking. To keep adding to the list of people we love… while still loving those closest to us. And forgiving. All the while forgiving. Ourselves and others. But probably, mostly, ourselves. We cobble together a cadre of people we call community. We gather together our own posses, our own crowd, our own families. Somehow, I don’t know how, in the process we begin to glimmer. Shine, shine, shine.

And I told you this story to tell you another story about sock puppets.