The following is a slightly fictionalized and embellished story of one evening (especially since I can't quite remember the details) in fall 2008.
She walked into the college cafeteria, looking for familiar faces, until she remembered that most of her usual dinner companions were away for the weekend. During times like these, she often would find another familiar face or two with whom to share the meal.
She proceeded to fill her plate with the food that was available (which was never quite good on a Saturday night), and filled her cup with water. After picking up some silverware, she found a small table near the soda fountain. She began to eat her dinner in her "island" of solitude.
Then she noticed one of her friends was nearby, in the other room. He appeared to be on the phone, so she quietly ate her meal, watching the other people in the room and thinking about many things. At one point, she went back to the soda fountain, where the hot water and coffee and teas were, and picked out a packet of black tea. Finding a mug, and a packet of sugar, she poured hot water into the mug and steeped the tea bag for a few minutes.
Her friend finished his phone call, and noticed her sitting at the table, so he joined her for conversation. For quite some time, they discussed family situations, their shared faith in God, and other life experiences. Topics like evolution, theology, and current classes were explored, as well as recent movies they'd seen and songs they'd heard.
She enjoyed this conversation, and sipped her tea while they talked. (While she was in Ukraine, she had often shared tea with other pastors, families, and friends, as they built relationships.)
The time came for him to leave the cafeteria (to go where, she wasn't quite sure), and he bid her farewell with, "You have a good evening." She replied with a simple, "Thank you. You too," as he walked away.
As he left, she glanced down at the quote on the tag of her tea bag and pondered its relevance to her dinner conversation. "No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main... -John Donne."
She smiled to herself, picked up her dishes, and got up from the table.
