Claudine Phillips

What happens when we women band together

There is a trend of fancy tables being set all over the country for the sake of community. I love it. The chance to share hearts with other women makes life less complicated and I feel anchored. But I have to admit, I get anxiety when I see all these amazing candlelit fruit filled cornucopia tablescapes.

Although I love to decorate and welcome people into my home with wine, coffee, and food, I just don’t measure up in this season of life. Hosting a few women for intimate conversations in an 800 square foot month to month cabin rental while deciding on our new “place we call home” does not bode well for endorsing community.

Then this happened.


I was in a home improvement store pushing around Crosby, aka Mr. Happy Pants, dreaming of a potential house renovation. Shad and I love to renovate homes and getting to put our own stamp on a new/old place here  in the promise land makes me giddy with possibilities. As I strolled in my dreamlike state, a screaming baby kept jolting me back to reality. I would turn away from the baby racket and attempt to resume my day dreaming, but she seemed to find us in every turn. I was a little annoyed that this baby was interrupting my fantasy escape and  gave the mom a glance of I’ve been there, but WASNT THERE RIGHT NOW kind of look.

I immediately felt guilty. How was this empowering my people?

I decided I was feeling defeated and done, so I disappointedly returned to my car. As I was buckling in my dream child, screamy-pants had followed. She was getting buckled in to her prison, as it seemed, and the screaming was really getting to me. I shut my babies door and took a deep breath to try to filter the noise, but what exhaled out of my mouth surprised me. My frustration retracted and empathy and empowerment ensued.

“You can do it! You are amazing,” I yelled in her direction.

Then I heard a voice come from a different direction, “You go girl!

Then a third shouts, “Don’t give up!”


I could not see the faces but I heard the voices.

I looked over at the struggling mom and she was in tears by now. She stuffed the diaper bag in the back of the car and closed the trunk with finality.

ANOTHER woman walking by her car and towards the door of the store, grabbed her cart and proceeded to return the cart home. Not saying a word.


The mom of the crying baby stood there and silently bawled. Brushing her tears away, she dropped her head back, face towards the sky, and with frustration mixed with ambition yelled, “Thank you ladies! Thank you!”

She could not see the faces, but heard the voices.

The mom opened the drivers door {baby still screaming}, stuffed her exhausted bones into the drivers seat, closed the door, and drove away.

It was silent again.

I could not believe what I just witnessed.  A mom on the edge was brought back to safety by the the love of four other women, in under a minute.

That’s community. No need for fancy table settings or even a home for that matter. I had a voice and I used it.

Although we don’t see your faces, we hear your voices, ladies. Let your voice be heard and keep empowering one another through your stories.

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