Gathering

Written by: Liz Cerven

Dear Reader,

As the year bends toward its close, I find myself reflecting on the ways we gather. In homes warmed by laughter, around tables laden with food, in quiet moments of shared presence—we come together. There is something sacred about gathering, especially during this season when the air feels tinged with both nostalgia and hope. It is a time when we pause, however briefly, to connect with one another and with the essence of who we are.

Gathering is not always grand or elaborate. Sometimes it’s a quiet cup of tea shared between old friends or a spontaneous moment of joy in the company of strangers. It can be as simple as family members coming together after being scattered by the demands of life or neighbors exchanging small kindnesses across fences. At its heart, gathering is about belonging. It reminds us that, no matter how separate or isolated we may feel, we are part of something greater than ourselves.

Yet, I recognize that not everyone has someone to gather with. For some, this season may amplify feelings of loneliness or loss. If you find yourself without a circle to join, know that you are not forgotten. Your worth is not defined by the number of chairs around a table but by the beauty you carry within you. Solitude, while challenging, can also be a space of self-connection and healing. Lighting a candle, writing a letter to your future self, or simply stepping outside to feel the crisp air against your skin—these are quiet forms of gathering with your own heart.

This season, as you gather—be it with family, friends, or a community of your choosing—I encourage you to notice the ways connection takes shape. Perhaps it’s in the sound of a shared laugh, the way hands reach out to pass a dish at the table, or the stories that weave memories into something tangible. Sometimes, gathering isn’t even about words. It’s in the presence of sitting together, simply being, letting the weight of the year dissolve in the company of others. As Pema Chödrön writes, “We don’t set out to save the world; we set out to wonder how other people are doing and to reflect on how our actions affect other people’s hearts.”

At the center of it all is love—the unyielding, transformative force that has the power to bridge even the deepest divides. Love calls us to listen when it’s easier to argue, to reach out when the distance feels too vast, and to forgive even when wounds still ache. It reminds us that connection is not about perfect agreement but about embracing one another’s humanity.

In a world that so often feels fragmented—where the lines between us grow sharper and the noise of disconnection grows louder—love invites us to pause, to soften, to choose curiosity over judgment. It is a quiet but radical way of being, a practice of mending the frayed edges of our relationships with others and, perhaps most importantly, with ourselves.

When we choose love, we open the door to healing. We heal the small fractures caused by misunderstanding and the larger chasms left by hurt. We remember that the act of loving is not reserved for the extraordinary moments but woven into the fabric of our daily lives. It’s in the way we greet a stranger, the patience we extend to a friend, the compassion we offer ourselves on hard days. Love, in its simplest form, becomes a balm for the wounds of divisiveness.

Family, whether chosen or given, is often at the heart of our gatherings. Families are as varied as the stars—some bright and warm, others distant and quiet—but each carries its own rhythm of connection. For some, gathering with family feels like coming home; for others, it may be a bittersweet dance between love and longing. And then there are the families we build for ourselves, the communities that see and hold us when life feels heavy. These are the people who remind us that family is not always about blood but about the bonds we choose to nurture.

There is beauty in the imperfection of our gatherings, too. The unspoken tensions, the clinking of mismatched plates, the laughter that turns into tears—it’s all part of the human experience. It reminds us that to gather is to be vulnerable, to show up as we are, and to invite others to do the same. In these moments, we are reminded that love is not a polished performance but a living, breathing act of connection.

So, dear reader, as the year draws to a close, I invite you to reflect on the ways you gather. Think about the communities you belong to, the people who make you feel at home, and the spaces where your heart feels seen. Let this season be a time of noticing, of gratitude, and of presence. And if gathering feels difficult, know that even the smallest connection—a phone call, a kind word, or a quiet moment of self-reflection—is enough.

As we come together in these final days of the year, may we hold close the truth that we are not alone. May we find solace in the bonds we share and the love we create. And may we carry that love forward, letting it ripple outward into the world—mending what feels broken, bridging what feels distant, and reminding us all that even in our most disconnected moments, we are always capable of beginning again.

Yours in connection and love