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It can be helpful to zoom out a bit, and name that too often in church spaces, people get preferences and purposes all jumbled up, and end up either fighting or feeling resentful about questions like, “does that even count as church?” Let’s say this out loud: it all counts, if we’re able to take fear head-on. In this episode, we welcome back pastor Natalia Terfa to Fabric to talk about what really “counts.” In fact, she wrote the book on it: It All Counts: Finding God Everywhere They Told You Not to Look was just released this summer! Find it at a local bookshop near you!

Keeping the institution alive was never the point, even though most organizations seem to behave like it is. This week, let’s name the scarcity mindset that convinces orgs to protect themselves instead of staying relevant, honest, and worth showing up for. Belonging before belief. Always.

Twenty years ago, a small group of people decided church could be different. Greg Meyer looks back at what that decision made possible, not as nostalgia, but as proof that change is possible, and ought to be explored.

…the more they stay the same. The landscape Fabric emerged out of in 2006 has only gotten more clear now. More people burned & bored. More people rightfully skeptical of Church, wondering if it has anything left to offer them. As we celebrate 20 years of Fabric, let’s also affirm why spaces like this one are needed more than ever.

Ian has a conversation with Christian Ledesma, principal at Minneapolis' Roosevelt High School that wonders about humanity in the era of AI, robotics, and automation while taking stock of where we are with leadership, community, and education after living through COVID, school shootings, and the recent ICE occupation of Minneapolis.

Katie Eckeberger (@MrsOberger on Instagram) is a queer Christian singer-songwriter and a voice from Singing Resistance MN, who sang her way through “Operation Metro Surge” with courage. Ian McConnell starts a conversation with Katie about music, faith, and showing up when it's hardest.

A live conversation with Tabitha Montgomery of Flourish Placemaking Collective, whose work reimagines what public space can be when it's built with— not just for — the people who live there. If service is what we’re called toward, how can we make it a way of living beyond simply one-off events we participate in?

The Loose Threads podcast is a series of interviews recorded in front of a live audience in Minneapolis, MN.  Our guests are people doing real, high-impact work in our community.  In this episode, it's Joe Davis and Dave Scherer, who have been walking and working together for years with overlapping passions for music, justice, teaching, and spirituality. Listen as Chris Tripolino pulls on the threads of their passion and play to see what inspires you and maybe connects us all!

Loneliness isn't just about being alone, it's about being unseen, unwoven, unplaced. This week we name the deep human ache to belong to something larger than ourselves, and ask what it would take to become a community that tends that fire in each other.   LINKS: Keepers of the Fire |  Connect  |  YouTube  |  Coming Up TRANSCRIPT: The Ache This Week I want to describe a feeling and see if you know what I’m talking about: You're surrounded by people— at work, online, maybe even in a room full of friends— and you still feel somehow... unplaced. Like you're present but not quite part of something. Like everyone else knows how to belong and you missed the orientation. Literally happened to me.  That's not just loneliness in the ordinary sense. It's something deeper. The ache to be woven in. To matter to a specific group of people who also matter to you. To not just be known, but needed. Do you know this feeling? Yeah! Today, on this final week of Keepers of the Fire, I want to name that ache directly. Because I think it might be the one underneath all the others we've explored this summer. One thing; this is actually an ache, a yearning that has gotten a lot of attention.  The Epidemic Three years ago, in 2023, the United States Surgeon General Vivek Murthy did something unusual; he issued a formal public health advisory declaring loneliness an epidemic. A crisis. The statistic he cited was that about one in two American adults reported experiencing loneliness— and social isolation increases the risk of premature death by 29 PERCENT. That’s comparable to the health impact of smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. We have entire cultural infrastructures built around discouraging smoking. We have almost nothing built around discouraging isolation. And then to make it worse, the money-grabbing internet “manosphere” has very carefully and intentionally targeted young boys and young adult men to believe that they have no agency, and that their feelings of loneliness are the fault of others, like women or the feminist movement! I want to say outright: that’s a lie. Loneliness isn’t just an issue for boys and men, they’ve just been most successfully convinced they’re especially isolated, and then that false premise has been weaponized against others.  To be clear: loneliness is a problem, but it isn’t isolated to a particular group of American adults. Some demographic groups seem to have more access to emotional and relational skills than others… catch my drift? In an interview with Kate Bowler, Surgeon General Vivek Murthy said loneliness is like HUNGER or THIRST— a signal the body sends when something we need for survival is missing. This is biology. We were created— literally, neurologically— for each other. Matthew Lieberman, a neuroscientist at UCLA, found that the brain processes social pain— rejection, exclusion, being cut off— in the same regions it processes physical pain. Being unplaced from community doesn't just hurt emotionally. It hurts, the way a broken bone hurts. So when you feel the ache for belonging— that persistent, restless sense that you're APART FROM something you were made to be A PART OF— your nervous system is telling you the truth. Pay attention to it. Belonging vs. fitting in Just a quick tangent here to say that belonging is not the same as fitting in. Fitting in is when you adjust yourself to be ACCEPTABLE. You figure out what the group rewards, what gets you included, and you perform accordingly. It's exhausting. And it doesn't actually satisfy the ache— because the version of you that got accepted isn't really you. Belonging is different. Belonging is when you show up as you ACTUALLY ARE — complicated, unfinished, uncertain — and find that there's a place for that person anyway. That you don't have to earn your way in or maintain a performance to stay. Loneliness isn't just about being alone. It's about being unseen. Unwoven. You can be lonely in a crowd, in a marriage, even in a congregation— if the version of you that's present isn't the real one. The ache for belonging is the ache to stop PERFORMING and start BEING YOURSELF. Bring your weird into the room. Let that freak flag fly, baby. What the early community attempted There's a description in the book of Acts of the earliest Jesus community that has always struck me as both beautiful and worth taking seriously: 'All those who trusted in Jesus were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.' Now, I'm not going to tell you to sell everything and move into a commune (this isn’t actually a cult!). But I want to linger here for a moment. In the ancient Greco-Roman world, your identity was determined by your bloodline, your ethnicity, your class, your gender. In Greco-Roman culture, people claimed ethnic identity from ancestors— you were literally born into your customs and beliefs. Religion was in the blood. The idea that people from different ethnic backgrounds, different economic classes, enslaved people alongside free people, women alongside men, could gather at the same table as equals— that was radical. Historically disruptive. The earliest Jesus communities articulated a vision— particularly in Paul's letter to the Galatians: 'neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female'— that cut directly against the social order of their world. Now— did they always live up to it? No. The historical record is honest about that. The vision outran the practice, as it usually does. Early Christianity quickly developed its own in-group dynamics, its own hierarchies, its own failures. This is not a fairy tale. But here's what matters: they attempted something the world around them said was impossible. They tried to build a community where the usual sorting mechanisms— wealth, status, ethnicity, gender— didn't get to have the final word. Where the table was wider than the culture thought was reasonable. That attempt— that stubborn, imperfect attempt— became one of the most transformative ongoing social experiments in human history. Not because they got it perfectly right. But because they kept reaching toward a vision that the world kept calling naive.  Sound familiar? We get to be a part of that legacy. I want that for us. What we're up against Cynicism, though, is alive and well. When someone talks about building systems that actually take care of people — a real safety net, genuine healthcare, communities where everyone has enough — they hear: too expensive. naive. Unrealistic. Even the christian-adjacent politicized wing of the American Church has mostly taken that vision and turned it into an afterlife destination called “Heaven” that has little to do with the here and now, and is only attained through perfect behavior and putting up with unjust systems without reacting to it. When someone talks about the kind of belonging where you don't have to earn your place, where you're welcomed as you are regardless of what you produce or contribute— they hear: that's not how the world works. grow up. When someone talks about the vision Jesus articulated… a world where the hungry are fed, the lonely are placed, the marginalized are centered… they hear: nice idea. impractical. The cynics have always tried to be louder than the dreamers. And the dreamers have always been the ones who got anything done. Here's what I've been thinking about all summer, across these six weeks: the barriers to our yearning are real. The barriers to belonging are real. Some of them are structural; the way adult life is organized makes deep community hard to build. The built-in consistent access we had in school doesn't recreate itself automatically. The institutions that used to create connection have weakened. Many only experience anything resembling that kind of connection as a “perk” of staying employed in the same job long enough. But some of the barriers are internal. I think we can say that, without shame.  We wait. We wait for someone else to organize it. We wait for the perfect moment, the house clean enough to host in, the enough energy, the right invitation. We treat belonging as something that should come find us rather than something we actively, courageously seek out... Priya Parker, who has spent her career studying how and why humans gather (The Art of Gathering), makes this point: when the focus of a gathering is on the 'stuff' of the event, we shrink a human challenge down to a logistical one. The mess isn't what keeps people away. The story we tell ourselves about why now isn't the right time— that's what keeps people away. VIDEO: Priya Parker x Ezra Klein on The Art of Gathering Connection takes courage. Belonging takes risk. Showing up and saying I want to be part of something, and I want you to be part of it with me— that's vulnerable in ways our culture doesn't reward. But it is, I believe, exactly what we were made for.  The barrier practice and the vision As I wrap up here— one question. What gets in the way of your own belonging? What keeps you from reaching toward the connection you actually ache for? Maybe it's a wound— a time you tried and got hurt. Maybe it's the pace of your life. Maybe it's the belief that you're too much, or not enough, or that it's too late to start. Maybe it's the persistent, inculturated voice that says: just be content with what you have. stop wanting more. Whatever it is — write it down. Or draw it. Don't overthink it. Just name it. > In a few minutes we're going to take those outside to the fire. And we're going to offer them to it as a symbolic act of saying: I don't want this to have as much power over me as it has. I want to keep reaching. Because here's the vision I wan

The longing for stillness is its own kind of fire… quiet, insistent, easy to dismiss until you can't anymore. This week we practice the art of the honest pause, and ask what yearning reveals when we finally get still enough to hear it.   LINKS: Keepers of the Fire |  Connect  |  YouTube  |  Coming Up

Underneath every longing– for love, for purpose, for belonging, for rest– there's often a simpler, older ache: to exist without fear. This week we hold that tenderly, name how far the world still is from that vision, and commission each other as keepers of the fire for ourselves, for one another, and for that big, divine vision of love that could be.

Good morning Fabric! Will you help me spread that greeting around a little bit?  See if you can high-five or fist bump 2 or three people near you and say “Good Morning”,  I’m glad you are here!” or “Hi Friend!” Great work everyone! Thanks for helping to spread the welcome and to warm ourselves up a little for this morning! You might need it😊 I’m Heidi Esposito, director of children, youth and family here with Fabric, mother of two amazing adults with amazing partners, and mother to two adorable sassy pups, and…the master of fun! We have been talking these last few weeks about the longing and the ache that humans have at the core of our truest selves. The fire in our bellies that asks if things could be different for us, more fulfilling for us and for our world.  Two weeks ago, we talked about our longing for connection and relationships and last week Ian helped us to remember that the longing for meaning and purpose might really be our main mission in life. Purpose is the thing for each of us that connects our deep gladness with the greatest needs or hurts of the world.  If you missed those weeks, I encourage you to go back and listen to the podcasts or check out the livestream.  Today, we are going to explore the ache or longing we have (or should have) for play and I imagine there might be some skeptics or nay-sayers in the room, thinking that play is for kids or for people that have much more spare time than you have, or like me lucky enough to also get to play for their job.  So, before we start really digging in, I would like everyone to stand as you are able, and I’d like to do a baseline test on your propensity for playfulness.  Play: Top Monkey Score yourself a point if you laughed, stepped outside your comfort zone, connected with other people, felt a little less stressed, practiced flexibility or felt your brain being challenged. How many points did you get? Awesome, we are going to do well today.  There is a guy named Stewart Brown, author of multiple books on play, producer of a series on PBS on play as well as on TED, and founder of the National Institute for Play, an expert on play you might say, points to science that shows that “nothing lights the brain up more than play” (and at my age, I’m particularly concerned and pleased about that😊)  I think generally we agree that play is important for kids and for their development, but what happens to us as adults? Are we even willing to admit that we have a longing or yearning for play? I think that many adults are not willing to trust in the ache or longing, or it is stuffed so deep down, we would hardly recognize it, resent it  or it feels like too much of a luxury.  Where are you in terms of having or trusting in the yearning for play?…Fist-to-five…Fist (I don’t buy the idea that all people do or should have an ache for play)Five (I believe in play so much I have a big tattoo across my back that says “play-baby-play”   I think that is where a practice like the Daily Examen can help us to tap into the things that we are longing for, to notice and pay attention, to trust, and then to tend to that ache.  There have been times in my life, actually many, many, many, times, that I have begun a practice of journaling it usually lasted for a page or two, but I have had some success at keeping a really simple gratitude practice – similar to the Daily Examen and when I page back through I notice patterns around where gratitude keeps showing up – patterns of times when I have been the most joyful, free, my true self, deeply grateful and the most alive.  I think looking back and noticing those patterns helped me to pay attention to the ache and longing that I have for play and helped me to tend to that longing with more care and importance and made me have the courage to try and add some new things into my life that aligned with the longing for play. So, what exactly counts as play? Let’s work together to see if we can discover what play is and come up with a working definition for us. Take a look in your Sunday Papers and take out the 4”x4” square of paper.  Write “Play is” at the top. Kids, this is for you too!  We need your expertise on this! Ok you have 1 minute to write down your best definition for what play is.  Kids, you can write words or draw a picture of what play looks like for you. Ok Go! Now, I want you to crumple that paper up into a little ball.  This side of the room turn and face the middle, and the other side to do the same.  When I say “go” we are going to create a snowstorm of play ideas, your job is to throw your “ball” across towards the other side (or as far as a paper ball will travel) and then find one ball that isn’t your own AND (here is the important direction) gather in groups of 4-5 people. Ready Go! OK, share what is on your slip with your group. And when you’re done, sit back down. Shout out a few of the gems that you heard the best definitions.  Although Stewart Brown says that defining play is a little like explaining a joke, he says that play is far more than simply having “fun” — Play is a FUNDAMENTAL BIOLOGICAL PROCESS and a CORE HUMAN NEED that is essential for survival, creativity, and well-being. For Brown, play is the purest expression of our HUMANITY and the truest expression of our INDIVIDUALITY, and the state in which we feel MOST ALIVE  And I would add it is the fire in our bellies that CANNOT BE IGNORED. And Play includes many of the things that you wrote down on those snowballs like… Purposelessness – when we engage in things that don’t have a prescribed outcome and we don’t do it out of obligation.  Freedom – Play is happening when we lose track of time.  It has a lot of similarities to how athletes describe being in the “flow” and it includes this free feeling that makes us want to keep doing whatever we are doing. And includes the freedom from being concerned with what others think of us. It releases that self-consciousness that we as adults tend to always carry around with us and kids almost never do.  Play is Natural, part of our biology - it is how we as humans and all living creatures have been created to be, just take a look at our kin in the animal world – show video . So cute!                                                     and as Stewart Brown reminds us…Of all animal species, humans are the biggest players of all. We are built to play and built through play.” Play is…a huge catalyst for…connection, building empathy, trust, problem solving, creative thinking, learning, teamwork/collaboration, curiosity, risk taking, thinking outside the box, mindfulness, reducing stress/anxiety/depression. The list of benefits goes on and on. And play does indeed include…Fun! Best boredom reliever and mental health booster ever!  That makes me wonder…if we can afford not to tend to our ache for play? Aspects of play have played an important part of all of the significant breakthroughs in the sciences, arts, and humanities. Any chance you want to change your pre-message first to five research number?  So why don’t we play? OK, we are going to use play to discover those reasons that we lean away from that ache for play. We are going to bring out some bags of balloons, start some music and we are going to play and bop those balloons around the room. – when the music is playing keep bopping. When the music stops, hold onto the balloon in your hand or the one nearest to you. (play a couple of times, stopping the music every 20-30 seconds)  Now, if you are holding a balloon, I want you to pop it using some part of your body. If you are sensitive or triggered by balloon popping, cover your ears. Once your balloon is popped, find the piece of paper inside, and bring it to the front. Ok start popping! Adults lean away from play because… We are TOO BUSY – We feel a scarcity of time and so play gets cut out for more “important” things.  We feel like we have to EARN the privilege to play. Once we get all the other work done, then maybe we will play. We think play is something we do ONLY when everything else is done. Shocker alert – that list is never done!  A fear of looking SILLY. For many being truly playful takes too much vulnerability. We are afraid of being judged for not being more “adult” We don’t want to appear LAZY (story about popping up off the couch) It feels easier to NUMB. Rather than playing, we pick up our phones and scroll or watch a show.  Adults feel confused when there isn’t a clear GOAL. We are such a productivity driven society that  for many, play just seems pointless.  What is the thing that is keeping you from tending to your ache for play? Take the longer slip of paper that is in your SP and write down the things that keep you from playing or trusting in the ache you feel for play.  Later we are going to put these barriers into the fire that represents the fire in our bellies that  we want to keep burning that longs for play.  Take a look at that list of benefits again - connection, building empathy, trust, problem solving, creative thinking, learning, teamwork/collaboration, curiosity, risk taking, thinking outside the box, mindfulness, reducing stress/anxiety/depression. We, especially in this current climate, are in need for play more than ever! I would argue that play might be the most productive thing we can do.  Stewart Brown names play as something as critical to development as sleep and nutrition. So I think it might just be critical for us as adults too!  Jesus of course knew this, so many stories that Jesus told were helping people draw back to the ache in their bellies, to show up in the world as their true-whole selves, including being playful.  So, in this story from the bible written by Matthew, who was one of the writers who told the story of Jesus’ life, to

What if your restlessness isn't a distraction from your purpose? What if it is your purpose, trying to get your attention? This episode explores the relationship between yearning and calling, and consider the possibility that the fire in your belly already knows something you haven't caught up to yet.   LINKS: Keepers of the Fire |  Connect  |  YouTube  |  Coming Up

We don't just want people in our lives, we ache for the ones who know us fully and stay anyway. This week we sit with the longing for connection that goes beyond convenience or proximity, and ask what it might mean to stop settling for less than we were made for.   LINKS: Keepers of the Fire |  Connect  |  YouTube  |  Coming Up TRANSCRIPT: Relationships: What we reach for in each other Before we get into anything else— before really introducing this conversation series or today’s particular theme— I want you to pull something out of your Sunday Papers. It's called a Daily Examen. If that word's new to you, here's the short version: it's an old prayer practice— centuries old, actually— where instead of asking God to fix your day or explain your life, you just look back over it. Slowly, and gently. You notice what moved you. What you're grateful for. What quietly grew you. And you ask, at the end, what all of that might be inviting you into next. Super simple prayer practice that requires no performance or right answers. Just noticing. We made our own version of it for this series— for the next six weeks we're calling Keepers of the Fire— and instead of just talking about it, I want us to actually do it. Right now. Together. So take a minute. Look at the front side. Grab a pen, or just sit with it in your head. Let yourself notice what you're actually grateful for. Then, let yourself notice what's brought you joy, energy, a sense of coming alive lately. Don't rush to explain any of it or fix it or figure out what it means or anything like that. Just let yourself want deep, big things. Let yourself ache a little. I’m going to give you a little time here to think about it, and then write or draw in the boxes on your page. However that landed for you, however much or little showed up, that's okay. That's the practice. Now, flip it over. The back side is a second copy, identical to the one you just did, because this isn't a one-time thing. Take it home. Do it again tomorrow, or Tuesday, or whenever you can steal five or ten quiet minutes this week. The fire you just noticed doesn't go out when you leave this room. And underneath all of that noticing is a question we're going to be living with together for six weeks— a fire most of us have learned to keep quiet in any number of ways. So before I tell you what this series is about, I wanted you to spend a little time with your own fire first. When you're ready— when you've done a little dreaming, a little longing, a little honest noticing— we'll talk about where we're headed. Starting with the first thing that fire always wants: relationship. SECTION 1: A turn in the road For the last many weeks we've been in The Book of Forgiving, looking back from where we stand, at real hurts, real wounds, charting a kind of path forward that can only be achieved through forgiving. That was important work, and I hope it did something for you. Today, we’re turning around. We're going to spend the next six weeks not looking back, but looking forward. Standing where we are and trusting a gut feeling. A sacred impulse. A fire in the belly that says: things can be better than this. That feeling has a lot of names. For the next six weeks, let’s call it The Ache. What is The Ache? The Ache is that restless, reaching, yearny feeling. The sense that the world could be different. That you could be different. That there's more available — in your relationships, your life, your world — than what you're currently experiencing. Kids feel it when they want a best friend who really gets them. Adults feel it when a conversation goes surprisingly deep and they think, “why don't I have more of this?” We all feel it when we watch the news and think: it doesn't have to be this way. [I felt it this weekend as I thought about 250 years of the American experiment, and remembered that there’s a reality behind all the mythologies that deserves attention as we work to continue collectively rejecting tyranny.] The Ache is not ingratitude. It is not greed. It is not naivete. It’s is one of the most human things about you. And we've been told (in a hundred quiet ways) to tamp it down. Name the voices: be realistic, be grateful, stop wanting so much, just be content.  I want to make a case today that the fire in your belly is WORTH PROTECTING. That the world needs more people willing to tend it, not EXTINGUISH it. Across the next six weeks, we’ll look at six of the MANY MANY ways the fire burns: relationships, purpose, play, belonging, peace, safety. This week: relationships. SECTION 2: The ache for relationship One of the clearest places The Ache shows up is in our longing for real relationship. Not just people in our lives, but people who know us. Fully. (And stay anyway.) We want to be chosen. We want to be seen. We want to be the person someone calls first— when something wonderful happens, or when everything falls apart. The cultural counter-message: that needing people this deeply is weakness. That you should be more self-sufficient. That wanting to be truly known is somehow greedy or unrealistic or too dreamy. And so we settle. We keep things surface-level because it's safer. We stay busy so we don't have to feel the ache. We tell ourselves we're fine. But we're not always fine. And the ache doesn't go away just because we ignore it. SECTION 3: Ruth and Naomi There’s a story in the Hebrew Bible, what the Christian church calls the “Old Testament,” that provides a really beautiful example of the kind of Ache we’re talking about today: Relationships. What we’re reaching for in each other. The story opens in a time of famine in Bethlehem. A man named Elimelech leaves with his wife Naomi and their two sons and relocates to Moab, a foreign land, to survive. While there, Elimelech dies, leaving Naomi a widow. Her two sons marry Moabite women— Orpah and Ruth (a totally different people and culture) and the family lives there for about a decade. Then tragedy strikes again: both sons die, leaving Naomi without a husband, without sons, and now without any male protector or provider in a patriarchal world where that mattered enormously for survival. Naomi decides to return home to Bethlehem, having heard that the famine there has ended. She sets out with her two daughters-in-law, but partway on the road, she stops and tells them to turn back— to go home to their own mothers, remarry, and rebuild their lives in Moab, among their own people and gods. She has nothing left to offer them: no more sons for them to marry, no security, no future she can guarantee. It's an act of real love and release; she'd rather send them toward safety than let loyalty to her strand them in poverty and grief. Orpah, after weeping, kisses Naomi goodbye and turns back. It's a reasonable choice… she's doing what Naomi herself told her to do. But Ruth stays. Naomi urges her one more time: "Look, your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and her gods. Go with her." That's the moment right before Ruth's famous response… a choice to cling to Naomi rather than to safety, homeland, or even her own religious identity, setting up one of the most quoted declarations of loyalty and love in scripture. Here’s what Ruth says: "Wherever you go, I will go; and wherever you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried." This isn't obligation. Ruth has every socially acceptable reason to walk away, and she doesn't. What's driving her isn't duty. It's something deeper. A pull toward this person. A refusal to let the connection go. They’ve gone through life together, and they know each other intimately. She’s not goin’ anywhere. This is The Ache in action. Ancient, sacred, and completely recognizable.  The longing to belong to someone (and for someone to belong to you) is not a modern anxiety. It is written all the way through humanity’s OLDEST STORIES. Because it is woven all the way through what it means to be human. Why it's harder than it should be Any fans of Mel Robbins in th room? Mel Robbins’ "Let Them Theory" is a psychological framework about releasing the need to control others and radically accepting who they are. It asserts that instead of wasting energy on what you cannot control, you should "let them" show you who they are, and then "let me" dictate your own boundaries and reactions. Most adult friendships don't drift because of betrayal or neglect. They drift because one of three things falls away: PROXIMITY, TIMING, or ENERGY. Proximity — you used to see each other constantly. School, the neighborhood, the same building. Now life has scattered everyone. Timing — you're in different life chapters. Different demands, different rhythms. Even when the love is there, the overlap isn't. Energy — that click, that chemistry. You either have it with someone or you don't, and you can't manufacture it. Kids in the room, you know that when you’re in places like school, the conditions for friendship are pretty much built in, in place like school. You’re with people. You’re with people your age, sharing an experience. And there’s some unstructured time to find out who the really good playmates are with you... Adults have to be intentional about all three: who we’re near, how our lives overlap, and whether we have chemistry. And most of us were never taught how. This is one of the reasons “third spaces” matter so much. Not home, not work— a hosted space like this. A community where proximity is built in, where people are at similar enough life moments to find timing, and where you have enough unstructured, low-stakes time to find out if the energy is there. This community exists, in part, for this. Not just to hear a message— but to be a place where The Ache for real relationship gets to be named (not

After five weeks asking what it means to forgive, this week we flip it and ask the harder question: what kind of person am I in the lives of others? Becoming forgivable turns out to be one of the most liberating, and most demanding, practices there is. LINKS: Book of Forgiving  |  Connect  |  YouTube  |  Coming Up