“Community is, first of all, a quality of the heart. It grows from the spiritual knowledge that we are alive not for ourselves but for one another.”     – Henri Nouwen.

My yearning for the community was one of the reasons I moved to a small town called Cambridge, N.Y., in upstate New York. Chay is one of the reasons.

I don’t recall any bank teller in any of the dozen places I’ve lived in America coming outside to show me her belly as she prepares joyously to give birth to her second child.

I know I will always be a refugee here, an outsider, but I also feel known here, more than in any other place I’ve lived. And when I need it, the community has always been there for me.

Chay is an example of how community thrives in my town, even in the most difficult time. I’ve never been introduced to Chay or her to me but we know one another – that’s what happens in a real community. It just happens.

She is a bank teller. In the years I lived “down under” – in New York City or New Jersey or Washington or Dallas – I rarely knew much about the bank tellers I saw.

I know a lot about Chay. She is due to give birth in a week, and we stopped by to drop off some celebration gifts for her.

She is usually a smiling image on the screen outside in the drive-thru lane of our bank. Either Maria or me have reason to go to the bank most mornings. She asks about me, about Maria if she isn’t there, about the dogs and the donkeys.

We don’t talk for long, but warmly. Perhaps it’s this awful year so many of us have had, but this human connection helps to brighten my day.

She corrects any mistake on my deposit slips. She tells me about her headstrong son and her hopes for her next child, coming so soon. She talks about her rambunctious puppy.

This is a challenging year for the community in the United States – political divisions and the pandemic have stretched community bonds.

The Glens Falls National bank branch where Chay works – I was always yelled at if I didn’t bring Zinnia inside with me – has been closed to visitors much of the year except by appointment.

But it’s still a place of community, an important place

The tellers are always nice and attentive, and it’s actually fun to go to the bank. I risked a thumping if I didn’t bring the puppy Zinnia into the bank often. But we see more of Chay, even if it’s mostly through a screen.

She is one of those people who keep a community alive in a year like this last one.

She introduced her son one morning so he could meet Bud, and now, when we come through the drive-through, there are always some biscuits in the pneumatic tube that brings our receipts when we deposit money.

Most days, there are lollipops for us as well. When the bank called me to offer a new processing machine for my “customers,” Chay reminded them that I don’t have those kinds of customers.

She always tells me how big Zinnia is getting; she drives by the farm on the way to and from work and we’ve invited her to bring her kids to meet the donkeys once the pandemic has passed.

Chay tells us about her son, her husband and his trucks, the new dog they got, her hopes and fears for her new baby, due very soon. She made sure to let us know she’ll be on maternity leave; today was her last day at work.

We made sure to have a basket for her – books and soap and cards. She’s brought us a lot of warmth.  She made sure to come out and say goodbye and show us her belly. We were excited to see it.

She got to meet Fate, who was in the back seat, and who was thrilled to meet her, the source of many biscuits.

Community is about living people who know you and who know who you are, like the men who took some risk to rush over and pull me out of my car last week.

And like Chay. You will make a great mom, Chay, have a happy baby.