Lin Hawthorne

When we think of a “village,” here in America, it conjures up a vast array of far away places. Maybe a tiny town in Europe. Maybe in Africa. Maybe in China. Where all roads are dirt and all neighbors live within a few steps of each other in tiny, humble houses. They borrow dinner ingredients from each other and spend time talking about life and watching each others’ kids play.

The American equivalent is the small town. There is a small town in south central Louisiana called “Evergreen.” My mother grew up there. My grandparents lived on the same small farmstead there for fifty plus years. Everyone knew everyone. Sometimes that was good and sometimes that was bad. For better or worse, there was accountability. My grandfather was the high school principal at the small high school in the neighboring town  (Evergreen was too small for it’s own school).

We would visit as often as we could and I knew all of Granny’s neighbors by name. Rosadee, Emmadee…. they all ended with “dee” it seemed. There would always be people over for Sunday lunch. Half the time I didn’t know who they were, but my grandparents did and that meant they were good people.

That small town was a village. People knew each other personally and I’m sure Granny trusted quite a few of them to watch out for her six kids and let her know if any of them were doing anything questionable.

On the other hand, I live in suburbia. I have my whole life in some form or other. I guess in Arizona we live in mud huts. Stucco is practically a mud hut. Miles and miles of stucco neighborhoods that wind together to make one big, sprawling Phoenix Metropolis of about five million people. That’s a lot of people. And they are not all in our village.

We have to be more intentional about creating a “village,” but I am convinced that to raise successful adults, we desperately need that village. They are our inner circle. They are the ones whose opinion we entertain. They are the ones who we will totally trust to call our kids out on things that we would address. We trust them to tell us the truth. And our kids will listen to them because we’ve shown they are people worthy of trust, both ours and our kids’.

All of my village knows me and my intentions. The preschool teacher gently helps TJ turn his shoes around. Josh’s baseball coaches teach him the mechanics of baseball, perseverance, excellence, hard work. The boys’ grandparents teach them other things in ways I can’t SIMPLY BECAUSE I AM THE PARENT.

They are going to reject some of the things we try to actively teach them. They will. I can keep knocking my head against the wall and take the rejection personally or recognize the things I can strategically allow others to teach. They never stop learning from my husband and I: our character, our life goals, our relationship… our hugs, kisses and words of encouragement.

As you now probably know, I give my kids quite a bit of rope in their everyday life experiences. That’s partly just who I am, but also, I’m tired. And I can’t possibly see and know everything those kids are doing every second of every day. They’ve been known to run around without shoes on. TJ routinely wears his clothes backward and his shoes on the wrong feet. I ask him if he wants to correct it, but he says “no” and that’s a battle I don’t want to fight.

Because of that, I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of the “Shamers.” You know who I’m talking about. The people who don’t know us, but who think it is their business to insert themselves into our parenting and our kids’ lives at any given moment. Usually when we’re the most tired and the most stressed, of course.

It has gotten easier to address the more children we’ve had. I’m practically the captain of an army now. “Do not mess with me or I will send in the infantry.” I know who I am. I am the leader of this unit. I come alongside my children to model humble leadership. I motivate, encourage, correct and discipline on a minute-by-minute basis times four. I know my mission: raise kids for true greatness. Adults who know their worth, know they are loved by an Almighty God and know their security is not in money or this world, but in transformative grace of Christ Jesus.

So how do I deal with people whose intent it is to shame me out in public? It’s important that my kids see that I don’t entertain it. I don’t need to blow up or shame in return. That isn’t how God wants us to respond. Instead, truth and grace.

Truth and grace.

“Hey, you should go grab your baby! Your baby is going to get hurt! Why are you letting your baby crawl so far away from you??”

I get that one a lot.

“Thank you. I see my baby. My baby is safe.”

Short, simple and hopefully they back down. If not, time to step it up:

“Hey, our babysitting list has a lot of open spots. You look eager to raise them for a day. When can I pencil you in?”

And finally, if they continue to be aggressive:

“You may have good intentions, but I will not allow you to speak fear into my life or my kids’ lives. You are not a part of my village. Have a great day.”

Spending time and energy defending my actions to someone I don’t know gives them power and reveals my need to prove myself. Which I don’t need to do if 1) I know who I am and 2) I know who my village is.

Let me be clear: a “Shamer” is different than someone you don’t know who legitimately tries to help. I have had moms at the playground grab my child before they ran into the path of a swing, or tell me another is about to step off a platform. Absolutely legitimate. They are not stirring up fear or shame in a public manner, just helping another mom out. I high-five those people and thank them for their help.

On the other end of Shamers, there are angels. Who have been there and showed up when I needed it. Who didn’t expect anything in return. Who used their experience to help a sister out.

Back where there were two tiny Lins:  I was loading my two boys in the car from the grocery store. I strapped in the little one and a lady tapped me on the shoulder with her eyes wide. “I just caught your shopping cart… it was attempting to roll away with your first boy.” I expected the furrowed brow.- the judgement I was just going to have to blow off.

Instead, her look softened and she smiled. “I’m a mom and a nanny. It’s the hardest job in the world. Can I give you a quick tip?” She had my attention. “Take the youngest one, put him in his seat unbuckled and shut the door. You can buckle him later. Then turn back quickly to the other one.”

That’s all she said. And it was so simple. And as a mom of two little ones, I should have figured that out already- I felt a flush start creeping up my cheeks. But I told my insecurities to be quiet and accept this kind lady’s non-judgemental help.

I smiled warmly. “Thank you. That actually is a great tip and I’m going to try that.” “You are doing a great job,” she said. And with that, we got in our cars to go about our day. Thank you dear lady for offering help to a very tired and scattered mother. For looking out for the safety of my little one. For helping me not repeat a mistake. For being sensitive and measured with your words. May I be humble enough to pass on the kindness and help in the future.

We only had a brief exchange and likely we’ll never see each other again, but I might as well have swept my floors, put a snack on the table and waved on the front porch, because that lady just became a part of my village.

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