Better Together

We are better together.

We are stronger.

There is something powerful about unity, something quietly unstoppable about the way people can come together with a shared purpose, a shared hope, a shared journey. It doesn’t take much to see how, in nature, small things gather to become something mighty. What if we became like raindrops?

Raindrops falling onto dry land.

If you’ve ever walked through a drought-stricken field, you know the weight of silence. You feel the ache in the ground. It’s cracked, parched, waiting—desperate for something to awaken life again. In many ways, home education can feel like that. A vast, open land full of potential, but sometimes barren in spirit. Lonely. Tiring. Unforgiving.

And then… the rain comes.

It doesn’t come as a flood at first, but as a single drop. One parent speaking a word of encouragement. One child’s laughter spilling over math facts. One friend offering a hand when the overwhelm creeps in. One moment of connection. That single drop joins with others, and suddenly, a symphony forms—a gentle crescendo of raindrops falling, filling, reviving. And with that rain, comes life.

What if we became the rain?

What if we gathered like clouds over mountains, prepared to spill over in blessing? Imagine if we allowed our stories, our experience, our wisdom, and our vulnerabilities to gather into clouds—thick and rich with possibility—rising higher together than we ever could alone.

Like rain clouds that move across the skies without prejudice, we could carry the nourishment of connection to places far and wide. To deserts where the journey feels dry and endless. To forests, lush and green, yet still needing care. To narrow paths, well-trodden by wildlife and wonder, and to forgotten corners of the earth where no one else has dared to reach.

This is the gift of community. This is the movement of homeschooling done in unity. This is what happens when we become like rain.

Because rain doesn’t pick and choose. It dances freely. It brings what is needed—gentle drizzles for fragile petals, and heavy pours for the thirsty fields. It’s fluid and humble. It comes without ego, without comparison. It simply gives.

Now imagine what happens when those raindrops don’t just fall, but gather and move together. What if we became the river?

A river is born from unity. From many raindrops, pooled together, traveling with momentum and direction. A river carves through stone—not with force, but with perseverance. It flows through valleys and across plains, shaping the land, shaping lives. It carries with it minerals, nutrients, and memory—pieces of the earth, carried onward to bring growth elsewhere.

Like a needle and thread, rivers stitch the planet together.

Homeschooling can be like that river. Sometimes it flows peacefully, like a quiet afternoon spent reading stories aloud or exploring butterflies in the garden. Other times it rushes in wild rapids, where nothing makes sense and the waters feel too strong to navigate. And yet, it’s in the movement—the constant going, growing, learning—that beauty is born.

Even when we bend around obstacles, even when we crash against rock, we are reshaping the land beneath us. We are building something deeper. Something sacred.

And we’re doing it together.

Because raising a child, educating a heart and a mind—it was never meant to be a solo expedition. It takes a village. It always has.

So, what if we became the village?

What if we looked beyond ourselves and remembered that we were made for connection? What if we stopped competing and started collaborating? What if we leaned in, even when it felt vulnerable, and built something stronger together?

Villages don’t just provide structure—they provide soul. They celebrate milestones and carry one another through setbacks. They share tools, meals, stories, and shoulders. In a village, everyone has a role. Everyone belongs.

Now think of the ocean.

An ocean is made of countless raindrops—millions upon millions of tiny, individual particles coming together to form something vast and eternal. It contains the tears of history and the promise of tomorrow. It’s deep and wide, wild and beautiful.

What if we became the ocean?

What if we understood that it takes all of us—pieces of you, pieces of me—to build something that large, that life-giving? What if we realized that within each of us is a recycled fountain of lessons learned, mountains climbed, and valleys walked through?

We are made of memory.

We are made of the ones who poured into us—the mentors who saw potential, the mothers who whispered hope, the teachers who sparked wonder. We are full of the encouragement that was once handed to us when we were on the brink of giving up. And now, we get to be that for others. For each other.

This is the beauty of this way of life.

To homeschool not in isolation, but in communion. To educate not just through textbooks, but through touchpoints—through conversations and shared experiences and open hearts.

To know that our journey doesn’t have to be a dry one. It can be wet with wonder, alive with laughter, softened by tears, and full of fertile ground where roots grow deep.

Because when we become the rain, we create a sea of life for our children.

We create spaces where their curiosity can bloom, where their questions are welcome, where their dreams are nurtured. We show them what it means to live in rhythm with the world—to honor the past, to engage the present, and to look forward to the future with hope.

And maybe most importantly, we model what it means to live in community.

Not perfectly, but intentionally.

Not with all the answers, but with open hands and open hearts.

Together, we become something greater than ourselves. Together, we become the rain, the river, the village, the ocean.

Together, we create the kind of world we want our children to inherit—a world of cooperation over competition, of compassion over comparison, of courage over comfort zones.

We are better together.

We are stronger.

So let’s be the rain.

Let’s water the dry places.

Let’s flow like rivers.

Let’s build the village.

Let’s rise like oceans.

In it together,

Rossie Ansolabehere