I have been welcoming new friends into my life. They are women and men who meet weekly over a warm and beautiful meal at Out of the Cold in East Vancouver. My church cooks one of the meals once a month, but once a month does not meet my craving to get acquainted with some of the guests. So, I go a little more often.
Last night I was warmly greeted by some of my new friends. Over the weeks they've slowly offered me parts of their stories and I've been metaphorically and then quite literally embraced. There are so many things that are brewing inside of me after a few months of showing up and sharing a meal with people at Out of the Cold; here's a little list of them:
++ Listening, truly listening, is an uncommon practice. Distraction reigns in our short attention spans. But oh! to be heard and to give the gift of hearing to another. The discipline of focused listening means I have to fix my eyes, narrow my ears for the one sitting right beside/before me, shut down my leaping desire to speak, and grip patience with fierce tenacity. When I let my eyes drift away, or I jump in too quickly to speak, I lose and I discourage. I don't like that. I don't like that one bit.
++ People who are marginalized hold a bit of my story, too. I can dress it up, put some eyeshadow on it, but I can not rub out times when I've been isolated, I've been shut down, I've been trivialized.
++ Hospitality goes both ways. Just when I think that I am a part of the movement of hosting, I am met with a hot cup of herbal tea and a chair is vacated so I can take a seat. Why do I take time to go to Out of the Cold? Why do I cross the street to say good morning to a woman fumbling to make sense of her crack pipe? Because there is a gift in each encounter. I have something to give and there is something to receive.
Those are some of the things I'm thinking of as I nudge my little life in new directions. It's fun, heavy, lively, and smells quite holy.
