Here's a love letter of sorts for all the people who have helped make me who I am just with their presence in my life.
I don’t remember a lot about that first night they all poured into our third floor walkup other than the fact I was scared. New city. New church. New group of strangers coming to my house.
We gathered in my house, but I didn’t lead; I was allowed just to learn. Learn and cook. What started as me making a little extra dinner for a friend turned into a full blown meal for over a dozen people and their children. There was pasta and meatballs and salad and tacos and brownies and hummus and soup and so much bread. I’d start in the morning and go all day; soup in the crockpot and bread rising on the counter. Brownies – both regular and gluten free and always a fresh pot of coffee.
They were my people. We laughed together, ate together, learned together, and prayed together. We had five out of the seven continents covered and I can’t even remember how many languages were spoken. There is nothing more soul satisfying than a home full of people who love you and love your children, especially when they tell them and you aren’t able to translate.
It was beautiful. It was messy. It was one of the best examples of community I have ever been part of. It wasn’t perfect. It ended. But it transformed me in ways I could never imagine. It anchored me.
Read the rest over at my favorite corner of the internet..... The Mudroom.