I keep hearing this one thought threaded through all my other thoughts lately, repeating, pressing, insistent:
Nobody goes hungry at this table, no matter what you bring or don’t bring to the feast. You may come with empty hands, or you may contribute a slice of left-over slightly stale bread. Perhaps one time you bring a steaming pot of beef stew, another time a bottle of cheap red wine. Maybe your only contribution is cheerful chatter or sullen silence. Either way, there’s room at this table, and you will not leave hungry.
The only condition is that you show up. Come along, pull up a chair. Here, next to me, don’t be shy. Let’s eat.