I’ll Bring the Chocolate

When I was invited to join a group of girlfriends at a beach house for a long weekend, the hostess offered to take care of the food. I said, “I’ll bring chocolate.” To me, there’s something intimate about sharing homemade chocolate truffles with friends.  And even though I loved the idea of a break from cooking three meals a day, making truffles was my way of saying, “This matters to me.” I had prayed for a group of friends (specifically, friends who matter enough to each other to take trips together) for years. This weekend looked like the answer to so many prayers.

I bought the ingredients and was getting ready to make the truffles when, two days before I was supposed to fly out, I was uninvited. The hostess gave me no reason, just said I couldn’t come.

Her sudden, unexplained rejection sent me into a tailspin. I offer to bring homemade chocolates to share and a piece of jewelry as a gift for the hostess, and she turned me away? Who turns down handmade chocolate?

I was devastated. We had just moved to a new city, so I didn’t have an in-real-life support system. And after  experiencing such callous rejection, I didn’t exactly feel like putting myself out there and trying to make new friends. In fact, I felt like sitting at home and eating all the chocolates myself–right out of their wrappers.

Instead, I reached out to the leader of a local women’s group (even though we hadn’t met) and asked if they had room for me at their next gathering. I offered to bring my chocolate truffles (because if I promised to bring something, I wouldn’t chicken out and stay home). She said I was welcome to join them.

The day before the get-together, I retreated to the kitchen to engage in my own form of alchemy. As I heated the cream, I chided myself for going to all this trouble. As I shaped the ganache filling, I told myself it was possible no one would appreciate them.

As I melted the chocolate to coat the truffles and then rolled each one in the brown gooey mess, I thought about how making chocolates is a lot like making friends. It takes time, it takes effort, and no matter who you are, it’s messy. It just is. You can’t create anything worthwhile without getting your hands dirty.

[Tweet “Making chocolate is a lot like making friends.”]

As I stirred and shaped and rolled, I realized that even if no one else appreciated my efforts, it was important for me to make them–and to share them with other women. I am someone who gets my hands dirty, someone who invests extra time and effort. That’s how I show up. It was important for me to share a little taste of myself with these women I had never met as a way of affirming my commitment to keep showing up. Even when I don’t know anyone. Even after a painful rejection.

In the end, nothing earth-shattering happened. Everyone loved the chocolates. Our time together was just okay. But even though I didn’t experience instant sisterhood or meet my new best friend, I brought what only I could bring to that group of women: myself. And they welcomed a total stranger.

I’d say we all did something profoundly holy.

I’m an Israeli who’s at home in France, Italy, and Minnesota. A homemaker who had it all, gave it all away, and lived out of a backpack. I love one man, five kids, and the crazy story God is writing in our lives even more than palm trees, ancient ruins, and deepest dark chocolate. I write, coach, speak, sing, and create my guts out at hannahkallio.org.