The Missing Ingredient: Community

The Missing Ingredient: A Story of Family, Faith, and the Power of Community

By Rossie Ansolabehere

For years, our family sought the “perfect” rhythm for our days. We tried just about everything under the sun—morning nature hikes, carefully curated lesson plans, meaningful handicrafts, and evening family Bible studies. We dove into trendy curriculum packages, signed up for beautifully designed devotionals, and loaded up the van for every field trip that promised depth and connection. Each time, we held our breath, hoping this would be the formula that made everything click.

Truthfully, those days were sweet. We made memories that will last a lifetime. Unity grew within our walls, and I saw glimmers of the vision I had for our family life. But still, something felt… off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was a lingering ache. A question pressing gently at first, then louder over time: What are we missing? What’s the secret ingredient that makes it all feel full, rich, complete?

Many years ago, in a season of quiet wrestling with that question, God planted something small but powerful in my heart. It didn’t start as a grand idea. I called it “Farm Day,” and it was exactly what it sounds like—a day when a few of us gathered with our kids to work the land, learn a little, and enjoy being together outside. It was simple. Casual. A bit messy. But it felt… different. There was a spark. A sense of deeper connection, both to each other and to something larger than ourselves.

As time went on, “Farm Day” evolved. The gathering grew and so did the vision. We began calling it “Cottage School,” a name that captured the sweetness and simplicity of what we were building. We hadn’t meant to start something new. We were just trying to live more deeply and educate more meaningfully. But slowly, we realized something profound:

We were not meant to do this alone.

I started to see that our educational journey—our family journey—was made richer when we invited others in. The phrase “We stand on the shoulders of giants” rang loudly in my heart, and I realized we were surrounded by giants in the form of faithful, creative, passionate parents—mothers and fathers who had wisdom and strength to share. My own fears of rejection and my need for everything to be “just right” had kept me from opening our home for a long time. But something stirred in me, and I decided to let go. We began doing all the things—crafting, cooking, reading, worshiping, learning—together.

Each of us brought the best of ourselves to the table. And as it turns out, the best of ourselves isn’t perfection. It’s presence.

Cottage School grew. We crammed into our tiny trailer house, kids sprawled on rugs and couches, the smell of something baking in the kitchen, laughter spilling out the door. Eventually, we outgrew that little space. So we moved to a bigger one. And then we outgrew that too.

And that’s when I really saw it clearly: it wasn’t the curriculum. It wasn’t the crafts or the clever lesson plans. It wasn’t the prettiness of the Pinterest boards or the glow of well-photographed activities.

It was the community.

That was it.

That was the secret.

The truth is, our world is starving for it—for real, honest-to-goodness community. The kind where you show up with your mess, your questions, your casserole, and your worn-out sneakers. The kind where your kids know they belong not just in your home, but in a larger family of faith-filled people striving for something good and whole and holy. The kind where no one pretends to have it all together, but everyone brings what they can. The kind where you’re believed in and challenged and loved, all at once.

But here’s the hard part: few know where to start. Few are willing to risk the awkward, the imperfect, the unknown. We’re so used to living behind screens and schedules that the simple act of opening our homes feels like a mountain.

But it doesn’t have to be complicated. The answer is simple: Just begin.

Make the call.

Send the text.

Bake the muffins.

Open the door.

Start small.

Start now.

8 years ago, I sat in my living room on a regular Cottage School day. One of my dearest friends, someone who had become like family, was sharing her heart. She and her husband had become giants in our lives—people who believed in us, who saw something in our family that we couldn’t fully see in ourselves. They too had a vision for community and invited me on an adventure much bigger than Farm Day or Cottage School.

And Outsiders Adventure Community was born.

It wasn’t the result of a perfect plan. It was the fruit of years of showing up—of trying, failing, learning, listening, and trusting. It was a tapestry of dreams, hopes, conversations, mistakes, and grace. Woven together by the Lord, it became a place not just for our families, but for many others, to thrive.

Outsiders is an extension of what we learned back then: that education is more powerful when it’s rooted in environment and experience. That faith grows stronger when it’s lived out together. That joy multiplies when it’s shared.

We built it on the foundation of our imperfect beginnings. We built it because we needed it. Because others needed it. And because we couldn’t keep it to ourselves.

What we’re doing now—at Outsiders—is more than school. It’s more than projects and field trips. It’s a movement of people choosing presence over perfection, purpose over performance, and faith over fear.

We all need giants. We all need a community that gathers around a shared table of purpose. We need people who will say, “I see something in you,” and then stick around to help you grow into it.

It’s not easy. But it’s worth it.

The journey starts not with a blueprint, but with an invitation. And often, the one you need to invite first is yourself. Say yes. Yes to something a little messy. A little bold. A little wild. You don’t need a big house or a big plan. You just need a little courage and a lot of grace.

Community begins with you.

In it together,

Rossie Ansolabehere