Excavating Community

Closing the July Journey: A Note from One SisterFriend to Another

Last week, we reflected on what it means to build the kind of community we hope to find.

As I continued reflecting, I wondered if building may not be the whole story.

Before we build, perhaps we must excavate.

For Black, Brown, and Indigenous women, community has never been a new idea waiting to be discovered. Long before many of us
had language for it, our mothers, grandmothers, elders, and neighbors were creating circles of care. They shared wisdom, stretched resources, celebrated milestones, mourned losses, protected one another’s dignity, and found ways to flourish in
a world that was not designed with them in mind.

Perhaps excavation is the work of remembering.

Remembering the practices that sustained us.

Remembering the women who modeled them.

Remembering that community has always been part of our inheritance.

As we close July, may we uncover what has always been there–and faithfully steward that legacy for the women and girls who come after us.

With love,
Belinda

SisterFriend Reflection: Excavating Community
‍”We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.”
—Maya Angelou

As July comes to a close, one word stays with me.

Excavate.

Archaeologists excavate because they believe something valuable lies beneath the surface. They do not dig to create history—they dig to uncover it.
Patiently. Carefully. Layer by layer.

Perhaps that is what we’ve been doing together this month.‍ ‍

Not searching for a new understanding of community.

Recovering one that has always been there.

We began by reflecting on the stories that sound like our own. We paused to consider the women who unexpectedly crossed our minds. Last week, we
explored what it means to build the kind of community we hope to find.

As I sat with those reflections, I began to see the thread connecting them all. They invited us to remember.

For Black, Brown, and Indigenous women, community has been more than a luxury. It has been a lifeline.

Our mothers, grandmothers, aunties, elders, and neighbors understood that long before many of us had language for it. They gathered around kitchen tables, on front porches, in sanctuaries, community centers, tribal gatherings, neighborhood parks, and family celebrations.

They embraced the belief that children belonged to the care of the whole community. They preserved stories, languages, recipes, songs, and traditions that might otherwise have been lost.
They celebrated births and graduations with the same joy with which they prepared meals afterward. funeral. They shared wisdom without calling it mentoring,
and they carried one another through seasons of uncertainty because survival was never meant to be an individual achievement.

While these practices looked different across families, cultures, and communities, they reflected a shared understanding: we survived and flourished, not by standing alone, but by standing with one another.

They didn’t wait for someone to create a community. They became it. Perhaps that is the part of our inheritance. Not simply the memory of what our foremothers
did, but the invitation to understand why they did it. They knew that belonging does not happen by accident. It grows wherever people decide that another person’s well-being matters.

Our lives may look different today. Many of us live far from extended family. We move more often. We balance demanding schedules. We maintain relationships through text messages and Zoom calls instead of front porches and neighborhood gatherings. Yet beneath all those changes, our deepest needs remain familiar. We still long to be known. To be remembered.

Perhaps that is why excavate feels like the right word. The practices that sustain community have not disappeared. Our task is not to invent community but to recover it, to recognize the wisdom passed from one generation to the next. To make room for it in our own homes, neighborhoods, workplaces, and friendships. To leave it stronger for those who come after us.

Community wasn’t something our foremothers waited to receive. They cultivated it, protected it, and passed it from one generation to the next because they understood that belonging required intention. Their example reminds us that community is not simply inherited. It is stewarded.

As we turn the page to August, perhaps our invitation is not to search for community as though it has been lost. Perhaps it is to excavate what has
always sustained us, and faithfully steward it for those who will come after us.

Where Purpose Meets Strategy

If community is part of our inheritance, how will you help steward it?

This week, spend a few quiet moments reflecting on these questions:

• Who first taught me what community looked like?

• What community practice would I want to steward for the next generation?

• Where can I create an opportunity for the community to show up this month?

Complete this reflection

This week, I will steward the legacy of community by_________.

May the wisdom of those who came before you continue to guide your steps.

May you recognize the communities that have carried you, honor the people who helped shape you, and create spaces where others experience care, dignity, and belonging.

May the legacy you inherit become the legacy you faithfully pass on.