Sixteen people gather around our dining room table on Christmas Eve. Some know each other well. Many don’t.
So here’s the question I’m noodling for days beforehand: How do I get that many people—across ages, families, and familiarity—truly connected?
I finally land on something I call Christmas Eve Table Talk. On each plate rests a 5×7 handcrafted card inviting each person to choose one thing to share: a story, a poem, or a song.
As people notice the Table Talk cards, I sense a little trepidation. There’s a participation component to Mrs. Riddle’s Christmas Eve dinner, they’re probably thinking. But once the spaghetti and focaccia disappear, the sharing begins.
The story prompts begin with “Tell us about…”—a book that changed how you saw something, a meal you’ll never forget, a moment that stayed with you. The poetry option points only to page numbers in a small gem of a poetry book—How to Love the World. And the music invitation asks guests to choose a song—either to sing together or for one of our pianists to play.
With three professional musicians present, it feels a waste not to use their talents.
I am, after all, the product of my dad—an English teacher in the Dead Poets Society mold—who insisted that people participate. Read the poem aloud. Sing the song together. Respond in unison. Add to the moment.
Around the table we go—stories of favorite meals in distant places, books that teach lessons about resilience, mastery, and belonging. Then my mom, Madge, stands up, poem book in hand, and reads “When Life Seems a To-Do List.” She’s 88. A few people quietly pull out their phones to record her. The room is mesmerized.
Later, we adjourn to the music room, where our friend Lisa performs one of her original songs, dedicating it to my dad, Big Bill. As people leave after midnight, I hear, “Tonight was magical.” It feels that way to me too.
Here’s the thing, though: you don’t need professional musicians or gifted readers to create a meaningful gathering. You just need a little forethought—and a clear sense of purpose.
One of my favorite books The Art of Gathering encourages hosts to work backward from an outcome—how you want people to be altered by the experience—and let that guide your choices.
I love that.
In a world that feels increasingly rushed, divided, and digital, real face-to-face connection matters more than ever. Sitting together. Sharing stories. Reading poetry aloud. Standing side by side and singing. These moments create community—and sometimes a little magic.
***********
Last fall, Bill and I took on a new role that has been quietly growing behind the scenes—and this winter, it comes fully to life.
We are now directing LIFT Community Learning Center at Bethel here in Elmhurst, a new center devoted to intentional gatherings, creative exploration, thoughtful conversation, and shared experiences. At its heart, LIFT is about creating spaces that feel less like handshakes and more like warm hugs.
Our Christmas Eve table is, in many ways, a metaphor for what we’re building.
If you’re curious, I’d love for you to take a look at our newly released course catalog. It’s eclectic, welcoming, and designed to bring people together around ideas, music, movement, creativity, and conversations that matter.
Some offerings are free, others are low-cost. Our six-week session begins February 1, with a few special gatherings happening in January as well.
You can explore the catalog here: LIFT Catalog of Classes and Workshops
And if something catches your eye—even if it’s not for you—I hope you’ll consider sharing it with someone who might enjoy gathering around a table like this.
Before I sign off, one important reassurance: I’m still very much doing the work many of you know me for—my communication and leadership trainings, dramatic storytelling performances, and motivational programs. LIFT doesn’t replace that work; it grows out of the same values that have always guided it.
More soon. I have a feeling this is just the beginning.
Leave a Reply