My family and I participated in the Mora Celebration as volunteers and members of the community gathered together for the dedication and revealing of the new basement addition project. We stood along the road with many others as the limousine drove up to the house. I saw the first of many ear-to-ear grins on Jovan's face, as he and his little brother, Adrian, stepped out to meet the crowd of people.
I sat at the dedication, with my children on my lap, while the grandparents shared their thoughts about this gift and expressed gratitude to those involved. The deep emotion of the day was evident. The pain of the past few months was still fresh. Yet they spoke authentically how God sustained their hearts since the death of their daughter, Lisa. All who were there were deeply moved by their words. The builder followed, presenting a message that we each are called to go above and beyond mere convenience to make a difference for others in need. His words had been matched with actions. As a result, 100+ volunteers followed in his footsteps. Together, the gift of the basement was possible.
The revealing of the addition exceeded expectations. It was beautiful down to the last hand-painted detail. My daughters were delighted to help Jovan play with his new train table. My 2-year-old son climbed up the playhouse steps with Adrian and went down the slide. I was especially moved by a poster collage of pictures that had been lovingly arranged as a memoir with a lullaby poem written by Lisa's mother. I read it in my mind to the tune of the lullaby I sing to my children at bedtime.
Later, as we drove home, with a tummy full of picnic food, and balloons tied to each wrist, my 5-year-old daughter asked me, "Mommy, were you friends with Jovan and Adrian's mommy? Is that why we went to this party?"
I answered honestly, "No, honey, I don't know her. That is not why we came."
She had seen pictures of Lisa holding her babies with a smile of love on her face. To a 5-year-old mind, that is enough to form the common grounds needed for friendship. And she is right.
I explained to my children in the backseat that no, our family had no prior connection to the Mora or Bowdler family. We attended the celebration as strangers. We made new friends. Daddy made a choice to volunteer. We made a choice to come and participate. Everyone in the community was invited. A public invitation was in the newspaper, on TV and on a radio broadcast.
To this answer came another question, "Mommy, what is community?" To that, I tried to explain the difference between a community and a town. A town is a group of houses and streets, stores, schools and churches that are all close to each other. An area is given a name, like "Warsaw" or "Winona Lake." Demographics are factual. But to call a town a community is to define the interaction between the people who live there. Community involves caring for one another in that when one family needs help, a community helps together. When one family is hurting, a community hurts with them. When one family is celebrating, a community celebrates. We not only share our streets, our stores, our schools and our churches, but we share our lives, our time and our feelings, too.
The Mora Celebration Event was really special. It was filled with joy, tears, connectedness and a sense of community. I was proud to be a part of our community that day. Our family was deeply impacted. To those who were not in attendance, or who waited to hear the second-hand story in the news, you missed out on a really good thing. I guess you were busy with other things around town.
