I looked forward to the gathering. There would be some friends I hadn’t seen for awhile. There would be some people I didn’t know. There would be some people I spend time with often. There was a lot of planning leading up to it, as well as some uncertainty. (Something I’m certain about is that I’ll share more as time passes and the group grows, not just in size but in depth. There’s something special happening, and I don’t want to keep it secret. But I also want to let it simmer for a while, so in the meantime, we’ll just peek through the curtain at moments every now and then…)

The venue was already fairly full when I arrived. I liked the dim lighting. Some might think it wasn’t bright enough, but I thought it would be inviting for those who wanted to slip in and out if they were self-conscious about coming to an event that was rooted in faith. It wasn’t intended to be religious, but when it’s what people know, it’s difficult not to impose it on everything they’re involved in. Belief and religion become synonymous, which is not the case. Of course, neither are they mutually exclusive. 

The atmosphere was welcoming and casual. I tried to connect with a variety of people, which worked for a little while before I settled in with a friend’s mom. I connected with a couple across the table until a short presentation. Then someone not too far across the room recognized me and rushed over to give me a hug. We hadn’t seen each other for quite some time. She asked how I was. I returned the questions. We caught up. We reminisced and laughed. She deepened her inquiry as to how I was doing—really. I assured her I was doing well—really. She asked a couple more questions that paused me, because they reminded me of the impact of nearly a decade earlier and the ripple effects of my fractured relationship on the community of people who loved me before and through the traumatic, followed by healing, time. Her questions were not probing, but simply lasting concern and care. My heart smiled. 

As she began to share some of our history with someone sitting close to us, she spoke about me in ways that seemed foreign to me. I didn’t remember a couple of the things she mentioned, and I questioned her. She explained more details, and I remembered more. She then gave me one of the highest compliments she could have given me, something I value deeply. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter much to someone else, but it mattered to me. I know this person. She speaks authentically, intentionally. God used her and her words in that moment.

We fit a lot in a short amount of time. I was so glad to catch up with her. Her effect on me is how I hope to leave people—noticed and encouraged. It’s not always possible. I remember someone telling a mutual friend she was angry with me two years after I apparently didn’t say hi to her on Christmas Eve in between church services. I don’t remember seeing her. I would not have intentionally not spoken to her. I assume I was busy, which isn’t a good excuse, but I certainly wish she could have approached me. I don’t like that she carried that feeling of hurt and anger for two years. My goal is to have the opposite impact on people. I know it isn’t always possible. There isn’t enough time, energy, or focus in the world. But on a weeknight in a dimly-lit room, among people I knew and people I didn’t, as the room was clearing, I connected in a way that I hope encouraged us both. As she walked away, I started clearing the tables, packing up, so the hosts could leave at a decent time. The kick-off event had been a hit—as a group as well as for many individuals. I have my own story of the night. I’m sure many others have their stories as well. I hope we all continue to carry our stories and positively impact others with them.