What College “Toast Parties” Taught Me About the Meaning of Life

Preface: Thanks to my gracious readers for forgiving that long period of rest.  My husband and I are moved into our new apartment, and I’m ready to move onward with sharing inspiration once again.


Parties were an integral and formative aspect of my college experience.

My two best friends shared a dorm room. You may recall that these friends are guys, and guys eat a lot.  Almost every night, they would haul out their toaster and jumbo jars of peanut butter, and have a Toast Party on the floor.

“I always say, one’s company, two’s a crowd, and three’s a party” ― Andy Warhol

On that disgusting, dorm carpet Sean would sprawl his long limbs next to the sleeve of sliced bread, hands carefully spreading the precious legume paste onto warm toast. Phil would often sit pensively with his back against some furniture, resting his arms on bent knees, with hands casually illustrating his words.  My posture depended on whether it was a skirt- or a jeans-kind-of-day.

A Toast Party was the place to exchange valuable information, like what Chesterton or Lewis had said about a subject.  It was a theological seminar wherein we submitted observations, questioned, and answered one another.  It was often a belly-laugh-until-our-muscles-hurt on account of each other’s idiosyncrasies.  A Toast Party was also a profound pause, to wonder at the movement of the Holy Spirit.

We were just a few friends in a tiny room, a toaster, bread, knife, and some peanut butter. But with faith, hope, love, and joy, for what were we wanting?

Heaven has been described to us in royal, luxurious language—a glory which “no human mind has ever conceived”…

but I’m willing to bet that Heaven is also like a Toast Party.

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