Only the women are here. Paul is our token male, but as soon as the dinner is done and the dishes are cleared, he will be gone too – upstairs to tuck the girls in and then off to bed himself after a very long day and a two hour commute through traffic. It’s nice, just us women hanging out in the living room.

We were supposed to go out tonight. The Seattle Art Museum was hosting a special event for the Day of the Dead and the artists were going to build a memorial altar and a tapete. But I’d mis-read the online announcement and the event was going to be over by the time we’d gathered. Plus, I was tired. The last few weeks had been busy and I’m taking a new medicine for my migraines which makes me dizzy and weak. (Diamoxx–mountain climbers take it when they, say, go up Everest so their brains won’t swell.) In light of all that, I suggested to the tribe that we stay in, have little Sabbath. No one seemed t object. Other people were tired too.

So we had Monk’s Dinner. When I was in high school we used to do this silly event in our youth group where we pretend to be monks. It was very Young Life-ish. In the youth group version we ate with our hands; lost points if we laughed and smiled; and the people with the least points by the end of the night had to do ridiculous tasks like dumping our faces into a bucket of Hungry Many soup in order to pick lemon drops out of muck. (To kids, it’s funny.) Believe it or not this inspired me. At ThPM our Monk’s Dinner was a great deal different: the only commonality…eating in silence. We served up Lentil with Peppercorn soup, crusty bread, glasses of wine. Then someone read for us. Like when you were little. It’s comforting somehow—being read out loud to. We read a chapter from Lauren Winner’s Mudhouse Sabbath. It was about candle lighting, which seemed appropriate since there were a coupe dozen lit in the living and dinning rooms. Then Catie requested a chapter from Stories from Grandma’s Attic, which many folks remembered from their own childhoods. Finally, Melissa read to us from Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies, a perennial favorite.

After supper we cleared the table and brought out our supplies: journals, colorful paper, glue sticks, ribbon, magazines. We lit even more candles in my office so people could sit in silence if they’d like. I offered three pieces for lectio divina; a prayer for someone who needed to rest and restore; scripture to inspire us onward to better living; an article for those of us who are still sinking into the concept of compassion. Rebecca curled in a chair and read the article, then made a beautiful collage. Jennifer worked on her display for next week’s teach-in on women who are sold into sexual slavery. Alicia turned the prayer into a wall-hanging for at her desk. I finished off the oratio stage of the lectio I’ve been slowly doing on the scripture passage. Melissa hung out in the quite of my candle-lit office.

I always feel good after nights like this: energized and happy and content. Later I question myself. Is this enough? It feels like enough. But at the same time I’m always looking ahead for something more…