After the church service this morning, a friend asked if I would like to join her for lunch in town, since I was husbandless, along with a couple other gals from our congregation. Of course, I am always delighted to socialize. I don’t often spend time with my friend, as she’s a nurse and we work opposite schedules. I don’t often spend time with the other three women who joined us, either; in fact, I didn’t know any of them, considering that they all live in retirement communities and are over the age of seventy. Despite the diversity, we all had a delightful time together and said we’d do it again.

My friend and I are both in our late twenties, working steadily at our jobs, persevering in our marriages, and anticipating our near thirties of more adventures. Our unconventional companions are settling into a slower pace of life, ailments and discomfort, the death of loved ones, and the completion of their adventures.

It’s a cold gray day here in these mountains, so the Village Market was the ideal spot for cozy conversations. Nestled around a table by the double doors, bracing ourselves every time the doors swung sweeping in winter’s draft, we chatted about our lives in that little French cafe. We chatted about our marriages, present and past, and shared our silly little stories and musings; we chatted about redecorating and spending time with family and our favorite hobbies. We chatted and laughed, and found that we all have one thing or another in common.

We were blessed by the camaraderie and the unexpected pleasure of youth versus longevity. The Lord has been good to each of us and will continue to be faithful no matter the struggles or the stage of life.

And that was a Sunday of fellowship well appreciated.

In the hands of the potter,