Circles Within Circles

There’s something comforting about circles. No matter where you begin, if you keep going, you return. I’ve seen this truth reflected in so many ways within my walls—in the way we pass the peace, the way we light our chalice, the way our hearts drift and return again to what matters. In a world of sharp corners and hard lines, circles remind us that it’s okay to soften, to start again, to come home.

Some who gather here are here every week, grounded in rhythm and routine. Others return after months or even years, unsure if the circle still holds their shape. Some walk in for the first time and feel, to their surprise, that they’ve come home. And every one of them is a vital part of the whole. Every presence, whether consistent or occasional, adds another thread to the tapestry we call community.

Spiritual return is not always about faith or ritual—it’s about connection. It’s about the quiet tug that draws you back when the world feels unsteady. It’s about the circle that doesn’t judge your absence, but rejoices in your return. It’s the song that picks up where you left off, the welcome that’s been waiting all along.

I have seen so many forms of return. The child who grew up here, left for college, wandered spiritually, and then walked back through my doors—this time with their own child in hand. The person who stepped away during a time of personal upheaval, unsure if they still belonged, only to be greeted with open arms, familiar smiles, and the gentle reminder that absence does not negate belonging. The newcomer who, after years of feeling unmoored by other communities, dared to try again—and found something here that quietly said, “Stay.”

There is a sacredness in the act of return. It says, “I’ve been through something.” It says, “I’m ready to reconnect.” It says, “Even though I’ve changed, I’m still worthy of belonging.” And within this sacred circle, the answer is always: Yes. Yes, you still belong. Yes, we’ve missed you. Yes, we are glad you’re here.

And let us not overlook the invisible returns—the return to creativity after a dry season, the return to hope after loss, the return to trust after betrayal, the return to one’s own breath after months of holding it. These, too, are sacred. These, too, deserve recognition. These are spiritual milestones, quiet victories of the soul.

We do not often celebrate the courage it takes to begin again. We should. It takes strength to walk back into a room where you once wept. It takes faith to show up after uncertainty. It takes deep inner resilience to face your own hesitations and still step forward. To return is to trust—yourself, the space, the community, the possibility of healing.

If you are feeling the nudge to return—to community, to creativity, to yourself—this is your invitation. Not a summons, but a welcome. Not a duty, but a door. You don’t need to explain your absence. You don’t need to rush your steps. Just begin where you are. Come as you are.

The circle will hold.

Here at UUNWI, we are not perfect. But we are persistent in love. We make room for return, for questioning, for becoming. We light candles for grief and joy alike. We pass the microphone not just to the loudest voices, but to the quiet ones, too. We believe that spiritual growth isn’t linear—it’s circular. It’s layered. It loops and wanders and still brings us home.

And just like a labyrinth, our journeys may appear winding or uncertain. But within those twists, there is depth. There is learning. There is grace. No matter how far you roam—spiritually, emotionally, physically—you are always one step from return. One moment of courage. One breath of openness.

The beauty of spiritual return is that it never requires you to be the same as when you left. In fact, it expects you to be different. Because returning isn’t about going back—it’s about going forward with memory. It’s a reclaiming, a re-rooting, a reaffirming of what matters most.

And when we return together, something powerful happens. The space changes. The people change. The circle grows. We become more resilient. More compassionate. More whole. Your return is not just a private moment—it ripples. It heals. It inspires. It reminds someone else that they can return, too.

So wherever you are in your journey, know that this space was built to welcome your return. Whether you return to this building, to a practice, to a dream long laid down, or to a version of yourself that feels like home—there is space for you here. The door is open. The circle is wide. The center still holds.

With every creak and whisper, I stand ready to hold your stories.

Yours in spirit,

The Spirit of UUNWI