The other day, I drove to Greenwood to spend the day with a new friend.

We met through Facebook a couple of years ago. I’m not sure who bridged the communication gap first, but, eventually, we went from liking each other’s FB comments to texting each other, sending video messages, and lamenting over the two-hour drive between her home in Greenwood and my home in Jackson. We’ve been praying for a couple of job openings to pop up in Jackson. Since meeting on Facebook, we’ve had a couple of really fun hangouts. It’s been great.

You would never think that when I had panicked when I figured out that this new friend was within driving distance, and not just texting distance.

Bridging the Gap

My husband is a Mississippi native who married a die-hard Texan. We ended up spending the bulk of our first two years of marriage living in Minneapolis. When we first moved, we had dreams of planting ourselves in rich, Christian community and flourishing both as a couple and as individuals.

What actually happened was one of the darkest seasons of our young marriage so far. Planting roots in the frozen north seemed like a dead end. By the time our son was born, we had made plans to move back south — back to community.

The move was immediately fruitful for my husband and my son. The former plugged right back into all of his old relationships and connections as though he’d never left. The latter was surrounded by the love of family and friends who doted upon him endlessly.

And I sat in the background feeling sorry for myself.

Culture Shock

Whenever someone asks me what it’s like living in Mississippi, I always say, “The Help.”

To clarify, Kathryn Stockett is a genius, and not just because she captured southern racism. She also gets the unwritten rules and subtext of social life in the deep south.

I have no fear of being denied entry into a bathroom. In spite of its baggage (and perhaps a bit because of it), Mississippi has introduced me to some of the most socially conscious and compassionate people that I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. But bridge clubs? The DAR? Family heirlooms hither and yon?

That’s real.

I’m a Houstonian who thought she was southern until she married a legitimate southerner and went back to the Mississippi mothership. I entered a different culture, where it seemed like there was a codebook to making new friends, but that they forgot to give me the manual.

I live in the land of spotless living rooms, of carefully-planned events complete with beautiful carafes and down-home cooking. Mothers who dress their children in adorable monogrammed bubble rompers. Fathers who have bourbon clubs for their boys nights out. Of lilting southern accents and intimidating southern excellence, where stay-at-home moms have advanced degrees and know where the fork goes in an actual table setting.

I am a stranger in this land.

Knowing Myself

But I’m also realizing that I was a stranger to myself.

In almost four years of marriage, I have lived in three different states. I’ve gone from living with my parents to living with my husband and, quickly thereafter, my son. I’ve gone from being a single who had her life down pat to being the young married who has realized that she’s actually not perfect.

I have gone through marital struggles, two miscarriages, pregnancies full of fear, and my family’s move to another country just as I was establishing a brand new family. I have gone from growing up in a safe, cloistered home-schooled subculture that was familiar and cozy to stepping out into new worlds, new cultures, and the challenging of all of my presuppositions.

These growing pains are real. And they make small talk really hard.

Knowing Others

But when the only option is delving deep… it’s scary.

And it’s because of that fear that I was much more comfortable with my new friend when she was online and not in-person. Because online, it’s easy to show only the neat little parts of me; and the un-neat parts of me are hidden  in a very controlled environment.

In person? I don’t hold the reigns.

And because of that, since I’ve lived in Mississippi, I’ve had shockingly few friend-dates.

It’s not for lack of trying on the part of others. I get soft offers for play dates all the time, but I tend not to move on them. I have this gigantic fear that, outside of the controlled environment, all of this growth and change that’s packed into my story — my fears of miscarriage, my cluttered home, the stress of my shame on our marriage, my parenting worries — it may be too much. I will dive too deep too soon, because I’m fresh out of small talk right now. All I’ve got is deep end stuff. And homegirl might just say, “Listen. I don’t know you like that.”

And she might not want to know me like that.

Made For Community

But I’m convinced that I have to try. Come hell or high water — introversion or shame — I am not called to live in a vacuum, but to flourish in community.

Paul touches upon the beauty of community in Romans 12:1-5: “For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.”

These few verses outline three immediate benefits of community: humility, right judgment, and fellowship.

Community enables us not to think of ourselves more highly than we ought. In fact, it calls us to be others-focused, thinking outside of ourselves more than in (Philippians 2:1-11). Without community, I become incredibly self-centered and self-deprecating. I fail to seek out ways to love others.

Community also helps us to have right judgment of ourselves. I tend to be a navel-gazer, and while self-examination is good (and biblical — 2 Corinthians 13:5), doing it alone is a good way not to be able to see ourselves clearly. Life on an island reinforces skewed self-perception.

And community enables us to take part in the fellowship that we were made for. When God said that it wasn’t good for Adam to be alone, he didn’t just mean because Adam needed sexual intimacy; Adam and Eve were made with community, both with God and with each other (Ephesians 4:15-16). They could not complete the dominion mandate without one another; and we cannot complete the Great Commission’s mandate without one another.

It is not good for woman to be alone.

Make A Friend

So I drove to Greenwood, and my friend and I had an amazing time.

A few weeks ago, I said yes to two playdates and a coffee date. Not because it was suddenly easy, or because I was miraculously a social butterfly, but because community is what I am called to. Even when my life feels like it’s in shambles.

In fact, especially when my life feels like it’s in shambles, because community reminds me that there is more to this life than my own perception of perfection. It enables me to grow in service to others and in service to God.

I’d like to say that I’m done making excuses for running from relationships, but I know that I’m not. The day will come when I’m navel-gazing again, and I don’t want to share myself with others. But because of the seeds of friendship I’m planting now, I hope that someone will be nearby to yank me right out of that funk and into the loving arms of community. Because that’s where I belong.