It was a spontaneous gathering, without a lot of hoopla. Yet it was as inclusive and comforting as I could ask for. 

 

A circle of people - I would not go so far as to velcro the label of "friends" on every combo within the group - who came together for soup and bread. It was delicious, to be sure. The pile of garden picked veggies on the counter suggested that the ingredients in the pot had recently been attached to their own vines. There was an assortment of crackers, and dips, even cookies and a pastry that got good reviews. The conversation was enjoyable as well, while parents kept loose track of the children who raced between us and back down to the playroom.  

 

But somehow an energy drew us gently to the living room, and we became a small group. 

 

Each of us was given the space to speak about why we strive to include others, and what holds us back from that desire. There was no debate. No interrupting. No arguments. Just honest words about our own efforts and failings. 

 

I loved everyone there. 

 

Which astonishes me, because as I say it was not a grand event with an agenda and strategic planning. Just humans letting the door swing open for a bit.