Last month, I drove to Hamilton, Ontario to spend the day with a dear friend from camp. She took me to 541 Eatery & Exchange where we made ourselves right at home in a cozy corner of the café.
Between chugging warm London Fogs made with coconut milk, and devouring delectable, dairy-free brownies, we journaled, read; chatted about prayer, and Enneagram tests (I took one right there!), and—as memory serves—had just started on social justice, when another kindred soul joined us.
Her words were sobering. “We own slaves,” she contributed.
And there we were.
The three of us.