Almost every Sunday night since late fall, T and I have joined with a group of friends we call "Sabbath" for a shared meal and community in one of our homes. What a beautiful gift this community has been for us to be a part of - to know them and to feel known both as a couple and individually. The group has been meeting together regularly for a little over a year, and we happened to be invited during the Fall; apparently since we've become regulars, the group has undergone a pretty significant transition in who comes regularly, so we've been glad to feel like we can make the community our own instead of feeling like intruders. This group of friends, of all different ages walks of life, is generally situated around students of Mars Hill Graduate School and their significant others, if they have one. There are a few folks who attend that aren't affiliated with the school other than happening to have a friend who goes to MHGS.
This community has come to be one of the richest parts of my relationships in Seattle; I think both T and I have felt that this group has truly been a shared component of our marriage in the way of knowing us through our joys and through our difficulties. While we're still getting to know this community and the people in it, it's been wonderful to feel as though they're "doing life" with us as we like to say. They're in it with us. They're in it with me.
So we try to have one person share each week in whatever way that word feels appropriate to them; this could be just sharing a story, but it could also be playing a song, doing a project together as a group, bringing a special dish to share, etc. This past week, one of the women of the group wanted us all to participate in creating a painting together, so she provided all the materials - a sheet of paper, watercolors, brushes, and oil pastels. She also asked if we could make a point not to speak throughout the entire thing, using eye contact and body language to communicate.
(Photo borrowed from my good friend, Kendra)
It was obvious that most of us were hesitant to start; MHGS is known for being a community of artists of all kinds, so for those of us who are less-inclined, the task was daunting. I certainly felt the pressure of needing to find inspiration to make my contribution meaningful; it wouldn't matter if what I added was ugly if it had significance. As I moved around the table to add different components, I noticed myself noticing the work that everyone else was doing. I was especially attuned to the folks to added to the particular parts I had made. So I would move to a new spot, to make a new addition, hoping to leave my mark somewhere on the page untainted.
It was really an interesting exercise - a lot was stirred in me that was unexpected. A sense of urgency to leave my mark on the page, then noticing my anxiety when someone covered "me" up. I was, I think, one of the few people that moved around the most around the table throughout the whole experience. I added something to every side of the page, in an attempt to run away from my community; to stand alone out of fear of being swallowed up. I didn't realize this in the moment, but as I reflect, I'm saddened by my fear.
Also reflecting back to this experience, I remember being lost at moments by watching my friends and what came out of them, onto the page. I smiled in wonder, wondering what their lines and strokes meant. Why curved? Why straight? Why jagged? Why dark? Why pink? Why there? It was amazing to see so much come out of each of us. We hadn't given it prior thought. We had no prep-time. But at the end it was all there, without words, crammed onto one page - bits and pieces of each of us. It was a maddeningly beautiful mess because it was ours.
(Photo borrowed from my good friend, Kendra)
**Thanks Kendra!!
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