Last night I had dinner with a group of women I had never really met. The host, a member of St. Paul's, called a couple of weeks ago and invited me to dinner at her house with her and some of her friends. "Sure," I said. For the life of me I could not place her as I scratched my head and tried to recall who she was. On Sunday, she came through the line of parishioners who file out the center door of the worship area and introduced herself. She looked only vaguely familiar.
I arrived at her house at the appointed hour (well, five minutes early, actually), coinciding with the arrival of one of the friends. She didn't look familiar. It turns out that all of the women (four) attend St. Paul's, and they all exit on Sundays using the side doors. As a result, I had never really met them.
I had a great time. We laughed, they were candid, we laughed, they asked questions, we laughed, I asked questions, we laughed some more. Yes, adult beverages were involved, but not overly so. It is too early to say that a kinship was born. I find that I protect myself a great deal when it comes to trusting new relationships. But there were soft moments of honest sharing and discovering common ground, and it felt really, really good. I felt honored that they wanted to share their time with me (in one of those "if you could invite anyone to dinner, who would it be?" speculations, they all named me). They claim they weren't disappointed. I still feel honored, and humbled, and grateful. There may yet be a network of deep friendships that can be born who are accessible locally (My beloved Cabana Crew, aka my long-distance scrapping buddies, aren't near enough for regular face-to-face fun).
One thing that we shared during the evening was a report from the day: name one thing that was life-draining, and one that was life-giving. It was worth the reflection, and may yet bail me out here on those occasions when I find it difficult to think of worthy things to write or share.
Stay tuned.