The marriage group that ran for six or so years had a reunion. Not only did we gather, in person, we shared a meal. This was a coordination of fourteen people's schedules, including childcare, to say nothing of meal prep ahead of time.
I had told Benjamin we would be gone for two hours, and piled food next to his favorite chair. Our parting words were scripted.
"What would you do if you need us?"
"Call you."
When I scan the history of those shared years I remember the birth of babies, the deaths of parents, job changes, hospital procedures, and ordinary stretches in between. During covid we went online, which solved the issue of people traveling. They are, it turns out, precious to me.
We followed the well worn rhythm of check ins, which lasted for two and a half hours. People spoke from the heart, and the listening ran deep. Then I invited people to brag, as we always have. One woman remembered the shift in their relationship.
"John, do you remember back in the beginning? I called you and said I simply can't brag about him! It was too hard." John nodded. But gradually her resistance smoothed down, and these days appreciations remain integrated into their lives long after our group ended.
It is sacred ground to be connected to other people. To trust them with your underbelly. Yet instead of pouncing on their vulnerabilities, we all came to the table gently. We were not there to judge, or add to the weight of their struggle with a bulky opinion. It is our place to hear, and to care.
Which we did, and we do.
