There is a season for everything and a time for every matter under heaven. These words have always been my truth in life and motherhood.
Before corona happened and changed our lives forever, I started the year with a vision of opening up our house more.
I found myself slowly rising above the trenches of early motherhood, meeting and shaking hands with the new season, a less demanding landscape with more sleep on the side.
Out of this new season of motherhood, the first teatime invitation was born. My lovely plan was to open up my home for a teatime every season of the year, inviting different people each time, but alas, the pandemic happened.
Still, I was glad the first teatime happened just as the winter was almost over. Allow me now to indulge you in photos.
One Saturday afternoon in February, my dining table was transformed quite beautifully—white linen was draped over it, saucers and teacups placed around it, sweet treats and teapots spread in the midst of it.
The ladies who accepted my invitation started coming in one by one with their lovely dresses, their favorite nail polish, and their unique stories to tell, which I was privileged to hear in the next few hours. I’d like to believe that they, too, were longing for what I was longing for—community and friendship.
On that one cold afternoon, cherished dreams and prayers were shared openly and generously over the pouring of warm tea and coffee. Wisdom and perspectives on marriage, motherhood, and moving houses were heard over the clanging and clinking of teacups.
We laughed out loud on our insecurities, naming them and releasing their power over us by sharing them with one another. We touched on grief and beauty, on make-ups and aging, on sons and daughters we are raising. Mostly, we laughed and laughed while relishing the sweet treats on our plates.
It was a good afternoon. There were tea and talks, coffee and connection, sweets, and sisterhood.
I’m gonna keep hoping there will be another teatime in my home.