More than twenty-five years ago, Nancee and I moved into our first house – a tiny two-bedroom, one bath bungalow with creaky floors, mismatched chairs, and a kitchen just big enough for two people to dance around each other while cooking. We were 25 years old. It wasn’t much, but it was ours. And it became the beginning of something that would shape the rest of our lives.
Every Sunday, we hosted dinner. Sometimes ten people came, sometimes twenty. They filled our living room, crowded around the table, perched on counters and couches, balancing plates on their laps. The people who came weren’t all friends at first. They were students far from home, neighbours we barely knew, queer friends whose families wouldn’t welcome them, single parents, teachers, artists and musicians, pastors, and bus drivers. Somehow, they all found their way to our table.
We cooked simple food. Whatever we could stretch to feed a crowd. There was laughter, and storytelling, and always, always enough. What started as a meal became something sacred: a place of belonging. Around that little table, hearts were mended, friendships were born, and community took root.
We thought we were just hosting dinner with friends. But what we were really creating was connection and community. The kind that heals; the kind that reminds you that you are not alone.
In the years that followed, life grew full. We moved into a new home, raised children, built our careers. The dinners became less frequent, though the memories never faded. The spirit of those gatherings, that sense of belonging and shared humanity, lingered quietly in our hearts, waiting for its time to return.
Now, as our nest begins to empty and life slows to a gentler rhythm, it feels like time to revive the tradition, to build and grow what we started all those years ago. The Shared Table is the next chapter of that story. It’s about taking the magic we felt around that humble bungalow table and carrying it forward into a new season of connection.
This is not a business or a program. It’s an idea. A hope. A reminder that hospitality isn’t about perfection or presentation; it’s about presence. About opening our doors, our hearts, and our lives to one another.
Whether you one day join us for a meal, host your own table, or simply carry the spirit of connection into your daily life, you are part of this story. Because the truth we discovered all those years ago still holds:
when you have more than you need, build a longer table — not a higher fence.
The Invitation
We’re not quite there yet – but we’re getting close.
As our home comes back to life after a long renovation, the table is waiting to be set again. The kitchen is being built not just for cooking, but for gathering. For laughter. For late-night stories and shared meals that remind us of who we are to one another.
The Shared Table will begin, as it once did, with a simple dinner. A handful of people, a homemade meal, and an open invitation. From there, it will grow slowly and intentionally, expanding into a movement of connection and belonging. We imagine tables everywhere, in homes, backyards, and community spaces, where people come together not out of obligation, but out of love.
This isn’t about performance or perfection. It’s about creating spaces where everyone is welcome, where food becomes the language of care, and where we remember that what we have is enough.
If you’ve ever longed for that feeling of being seen, known, and welcomed, this is your invitation.
Pull up a chair. There will always be room for one more.
Christine Sharpe: Writer, Speaker, Leader . 