MY FIRST CIRCLE

My first circle began where I began, with my immediate family -- my mom, my dad, my brother, Alex and my sister, Merrilee. Most Sunday afternoons, in a farmhouse on the outskirts of a small south western Mennonite town called Rosenort, my father’s extended family gathered around the large dark oak dining room table for either a roast beef lunch after church or for faspa, a display of the pantry, for early dinner. On a good day, both.

Before and after the meal, the cackle of cousins would climb trees, play hide’n’seek in the house or barns, sneak away for truth or dare in the basement. 

The given -- when the table was set (and it was always set for everyone, a card table or two would extend into the living room) we sat in that circle, together as the tribe that we were, anticipating exactly what our taste-buds had been taught to anticipate: the crisp sour of grandma’s canned pickles, the chewy whiteness of her home made tweibach, and the salty softness of jelly covered canned sausage. 

Before we were allowed to dip in, Grandpa would have us all quiet. Always perched between an older and younger cousin, I bowed my head to his low german blessing. A short and loving announcement of the importance of what we were doing together and an acknowledgment that any of the goodness we experienced was a gift from God. That home around that oak table was my first and defining circle.    

Looking back...

In my break away from traditional church and my turn to circle, I long to replicate the loyal constant of those sunday feasts as a child, those perfect play times, my guaranteed place at the table, the ceremony that named and gave meaning to our gathering.

I also long to replace some of the rejection and lostness I carried while faltering in the confines and judgment of that very community. 

Replicate and Replace. 

Both And.  

When I look back over my commitment to circle, those childhood Sunday’s echo within. The belonging that held me then echoes inside the belonging I look for and feel now. Always, then and now, soul-filled connections emerged slowly with a trust in time and hospitality. Those homes became through the sustained ebb and flow of loyalty and surrender, the courageous presence of truth-telling and her companion, silence. 

Over the years, in various forms of circle, I have also noticed that this sought after connection cannot be constructed from a perfect wielding of policy or objective, including heart-felt touchstones or guidelines. As important as these thoughtful structures are to the potential of a circle, the unfolding presence from each person in the circle weaves the visible and invisible threads of soul-filled connection. 

Human Circles, the containers of those connections, show themselves in as much diversity as nature shows herself in circle. As there are an infinite number of ways of being circle in the universe there are an infinite number of ways of being circle in human gatherings. And each gathering can learn and be curious about the other. 

The healthy heartbeat of a circle emerges from the wellspring of our inner landscape as much as it emerges from the gifts that come from our universe’s circling hold on us. We dip within and we listen without. Circles depend on a humble recognition of simplicity and mystery. 

Both and.