When they started showing up for dinner on a regular basis, I was pleased. They are lovely young women, open and fun, real and seeking what brings them life. They were intrigued by my 8 day silent retreat, not scared to ask questions, they seem interested by the honesty about the best and worst of life, love and relationships in which we try to live. And when the 17 year old comes down the stairs in the Philly rowhome and asks “Can they come over for dinner?" my want is to always say yes.
When one expressed her desire for us to have a Quaker moment before dinner a week or so ago, my heart took notice and I wondered what was happening in these times of connection, sharing and eating good food. Their presence, especially the presence of the one who is the girlfriend, creates space for the 17 year old to ask the hard questions about his dad. To ask for me to tell the hard stories. I am careful, listening deeply to that which is Divine in the room, discerning intently to stay with my Guide as I share both the hard and the good times again with a young man on the cusp of being an adult.
Yesterday afternoon, we spoke of “safe time”. The time when the boys could ask for us to listen without fear of judgment or punishment. Where they could share those actions or fears that are so hard to bring into the Light and oh so necessary to be bathed in the Light. The words fail me to be able to write of the need I see in their hearts and their eyes, to know of safe places. The desire is almost tangible, and when I named that safe places are necessary, she responded “But they are rare.” And we sat with that reality a moment before I started cutting the onions.
Then the other two friends came in, best friends to the 17 year old. They have named themselves the trio and the night is usually good when the trio is at our table. So we have the girlfriend, and the two best friends, and the family. And in the final dinner preparations, after the table was set, while we waited to pour the garlic lemon mixture on the cut up chicken bits laying on a bed of mushrooms, carrots, potatoes and onions, the namer of the trio looked at me and said, “Name the word or sentence you would use to describe each one of us.”
Whew! High risk high reward request, and I wonder in the moment if perhaps they see me as one will not lie, not soften my truth,. She wants realness and I see so much beauty and promise and longing. The room is full of ripeness and I hesitate.
“At the table,” she says. “Tell us at the table.” I smile, she will not give this up, and already I name her persistent in the best of ways.
Later, at the table, I name them all, along with my sons and L, my beloved mate. It takes a while, this seeking for the essence of who they are, and who they are becoming, in the context of our interactions. I make it through, and yet stumble on the one I know best. L how can I name your fullness to me in one word, one sentence?
Then the persistent pursuer goes next. We have all experienced that slowing of time, when the protective walls surrounding our hearts are pierced and, for a moment, we dare to be real. It is a terrifying and holy moment, akin to falling into the hands of a living God, saved only by the truth of a loving God. And when she finished, L and the others joined in the chorus “now our turn”.
So each spoke, each gave, each received. A sacrament of knowing and being made known, in a place of safety, cradled by Living Presence. And once as we paused, I jokingly said “We need another Quaker moment of silence.” And they agreed, without the jest. It is the awareness that God is present, when Friends fall silent. And they named that also, without knowing the all of it.
Afterwards, we played Charades and I could not, for the life of me, act out Cheltenham for a place. But L guessed the 17-year-old acting out, syllable by syllable, Requiem.
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