It takes a village to raise a child

We have a gathering in church called Tots Together. One morning each month we meet in someone's home or a public space and hang out. It's mostly stay at home mums and dads and their little ones. Occasionally a parent who works outside the home gets to come and play too.

Apart from the occasional more structured family service for Advent, Christmas, Lent or Easter, our times together revolve around the parents sharing stories of life in the trenches with little ones. We get to empathize with each other, celebrate the steps forward, mourn the frailties of our kids and our parenting skills, and share tips and tricks that have worked for us at least once. Meanwhile the kids get to be with their friends - learning life's great challenging lessons about fairness, sharing, possession and forgiveness.

We met this week in a play park across the street from our house. It was a balmy 88 by the time the kids had played and the picnic beckoned. Spread out over three large rugs we shared a Eucharistic meal of hummus and cucumber sandwiches, watermelon and grapefruit, frozen grapes and veggie sticks. The amazing thing was that each child refused to eat the lunch their parent had brought. Rather they all ate other kids picnics. There was no struggling or debating, each child fed until content, each one's needs fully met by the feast provided by another family. It was beautiful.

Miss O needs more than the Beloved and I to grow into the girl and woman she is created to be. She needs the love of her grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, her god parents, her special aunties and uncles. She need to see and know the love of the families with one and multiple kids; the adoptive families and families with kids from their bodies. And, in time, she will need to meet her birth family again. It really does take a village to raise a child. I don't have everything she needs, I don't know everything she needs to learn, I can't be a reflection of all the wonderful facets of humanity that Miss O deserves to see.

The door to our home is always open so that our family can be poor in spirit but rich in laughter, it can feel pain but know purposeful hope, can experience death but live fully each bounteous breath we are granted.