A woman where I live passed away recently and no one knew it. She had no family members checking on her and she didn’t go to church, so she wasn’t missed or even thought about until her scent filled the hallway. She had been dead for three days. That is my definition of “no community.”
My mother was an active member here in the 90’s, long before me. She died during a meeting in the sanctuary, surrounded by more than forty friends holding hands in a circle around her, waiting for the ambulance. That is my definition of “community.” (In all fairness, my mother always wanted to have the last word, which she achieved that night.)
When I had my stroke, I had so many UUFP visitors, my nurse complained that there wasn’t space in the waiting room for anyone else’s visitors. Without names, the same nurse came in a bit flustered to say there was a gynecologist there to see me. Just another visitor. A few came by and commented that my speech sounded like I was drunk. (Real funny, but I still remember who those clowns were.) I never felt sorry for myself or lost my sense of humor, thanks to you.
There’s more. I couldn’t go home because I lived upstairs, with stairs being the key word. More than a dozen members of this church packed my house up and with cars and trucks, moved me to my new apartment.
After I moved in, I was told by some of residents that all the visits and a ride to church would stop after awhile. I just smiled. Neither was true, of course.
That is my definition of “community.”
So if you ever wonder why I work so hard to raise money for the Fellowship and never have a problem asking you for a pledge, this is why.
We have something really good here.