People say, “It takes a village.” But they rarely talk about how to build one.
And if you’re anything like me, it feels nearly impossible even to know where to begin. People are busy. Friends move. Conflicting life stages can make it tough to find time together. We hate asking for help when we need it. And broader influences in our society, such as social media, individualism, and convenience culture, make building a village even more difficult.
Back in 2021, as COVID restrictions were lifting, I remember having conversations with my husband about the state of our “village”. We were recently married, close friends were moving, and despite being involved in our church and connected to a lot of people in Columbia, we were incredibly lonely. We felt like the habits we developed during lockdown were lingering—we got used to fewer things on the calendar, and we knew our friends had, too. In a way, we felt like we were starting over with the people who had been with us all along.
Maybe, like me, you see yourself in the data on the loneliness epidemic we find ourselves in. According to a recent survey by the American Psychological Association, nearly 70% of U.S. adults said they needed more support in the past year than they received—a number that’s been growing in recent years. In other words, we know we need a village, but most of us are struggling with how to build one.
So, if you find yourself wanting more from your community, you’re not alone.
I’m not writing this from a place of having figured it all out. The things that are hard about building a village are still hard for me. But if I’ve learned nothing else, I know this: real, deep community doesn’t just “happen”. It’s made.
There’s this description in Acts of the early church that has always stuck with me. I think it’s a beautiful image of what community can look like—even the kind of community we’re all longing for. But this kind of community doesn’t happen by accident:
And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.
Acts 2:42-47
There’s a lot we could unpack here, but I want to focus on three practices the early church adopted that show us how to build a village.
To devote yourself is to dedicate time, effort, money, or yourself fully to a particular purpose, cause, or person. In other words, this kind of community required sacrifice and intention. They didn’t simply “fall into” a community marked by these things.
In earlier seasons of my life, friendships just “happened”. Almost like through osmosis, sports teams and college life created space for deep community to flourish. And in a way, I expected that always to be the case.
But the last several years have taught me that if I’m not intentional, my friendships won’t be either. If I want to have a village, I have to devote myself to cultivating it. That means giving up my time when it’s inconvenient, putting in effort, and not waiting for someone else to initiate.
Building a village starts with choosing to show up.
The early church was radically generous with their time and possessions. And while this sounds great in theory, I’d bet that most of us struggle to depend on others (or having them depend on us). Admitting we need help is hard. And when we feel like people need more from us than we are able to give, it can feel easier to throw up walls or grow distant.
But a true village is not built on convenience. We’re all needier than we’d like to admit. And while we can’t force others to show up for us, we can start to build the kind of village we wish we had by going first.
We can give people the opportunity to care for us by opening up about what’s really going on in our lives. In my experience, friends are quick to respond when I’ve been specific about what I really need—whether that’s a meal, time together, or prayers. It’s uncomfortable at first, but I’ve found that people are way more willing to show up than I expect.
And as we share more, that also opens the door for others to share with us. We can slow down, listen, ask thoughtful questions, and offer small but tangible help: sending an encouraging text or offering to watch their kids for a couple hours.
These small acts of giving and receiving create the kind of community we long for.
Now, I wasn’t there when the early church opened up their homes to each other. But I’d guess that it didn’t look like what I often see on social media: tidy houses, dinner party themes, and Instagrammable tablescapes. Nothing’s wrong with those things. But if that’s our standard for hospitality, it’s no wonder we hesitate to invite people over.
Sharing meals together is about sharing life together. It’s one of the simplest, most tangible ways we can build a village—opening up our homes, our schedules, and routines to make room for people, even when it’s messy. And over time, these ordinary meals can turn acquaintances into people who truly know and care for one another.
It’s been five years since my husband and I started having conversations about how we could strengthen our community. And while we haven’t “arrived,” we’re continuing to build our village one small step at a time. I invite you to start the journey, too.
The first step to building your village is learning how to be the kind of friend you want to have. In this blog, Jeff shares practical tips and advice on building friendships that glorify God.