A couple of weeks ago, I had about ten people over for dinner. Nothing too fancy, just a few friends and acquaintances gathering to eat together one Friday night. Normally, when I host a get-together like this, I have one of those moments. Flashes, I call them. The moments when the curtain is pulled back between heaven and earth, and God reminds me of how good I have it here, and the good that is to come.
I didn’t really experience one of those moments this time.
But I did set a table and light candles and cook potatoes that didn’t turn out so great and sit and laugh as friends stayed well past my normal bedtime, enjoying each other.
For whatever reason, I didn’t get the flash. But I did laugh. I said thank you. I enjoyed myself. I loved our home and what I hope it means for our friends and our family. I watched friends love and share with each other.
Not every dinner party I throw will be worth some big to do, a fancy photograph or an eloquent blog post or journal entry.
Life is more real than that.
I love that at 25, I’m learning that my house doesn’t have to be perfect. That most people will eat whatever you put in front of them. That no one cares if the utensils are proper or if the carpet is dirty. That I will inevitably forget to take pictures or light the candle in the bathroom.
I am learning that dinner with friends is always worth the effort.