It was a simple enough question. I asked on social media about the needs of young families. That was the catalyst for a hundred comments by a slew of mothers. A few dads. Even a couple of doting aunts. 

They spun stories of small groups with childcare built in. People who do errands that include moms of little ones, for whom dashing to the store is a complicated venture. Food prep parties where everyone goes home with five tubs of meals. More acceptance of noisy children in public. Community suppers that welcome neighbors into each other's homes. 

Others dreamed of help with laundry, meals, or after school care. Grandmas chimed in with willingness to offer a few hours. Older women sighed at not having had such support when their brood was small. 

One comment especially snagged my heart. A woman I had visited years ago just to chat about how she was doing, and enjoy her enchanting son mentioned that brief exchange as having meant something. Anything. All we did was sit on the floor and talk. Yet I was delighted to be in the presence of a mother who was wholeheartedly giving her best to her child. I did no dishes. Folded no shirts. I didn't even think to bring soup. Yet somehow we were both blessed. 

How is that even possible?

The appearance may be that the cost of truly making a difference is high. Provide gluten free dairy free sugar free meals for a month. Wade through a hay stack of dirty clothes. Change forty seven diapers and keep track of three toddlers. Yet some women say that the portal to giving support is much easier than that. Show up. Smile. Offer to hold the baby for twenty minutes. Bring a smoothie. 

I can still remember the friend who brought me a basket of fruit after Hosanna was born. The apples are gone but the memory is not. I can picture the woman who brought me protein shakes after Benjamin came home from the hospital. I am not sure I said thank you at the time.

She didn't seem to mind.