You didn't reach the end. You reached the part where it leaves your hands. A temple was never built to keep the glory in — and the fire never stays where it falls. The most honest thing to do with six weeks of weight is to make room for someone else to feel it.
You don't have to be an expert. You clear a room and open a window. So before the momentum fades — three small moves. Do them now, while it's warm.
Not the whole list. Three people you'd actually want in a room. Write them down here — it saves to this device and waits for you in the full Host Kit, names already filled.
One night a week, six weeks. Choose a start date and the Host Kit lays out all six meetings and hands you a calendar file to forward to everyone you ask. A plan you can hold is a plan you'll keep.
The hardest part is the first message. Here's one — copy it, change the names, and send it to one of your three before you close this tab. Plain and honest beats polished.
That's the hard part done. The full Host Kit has the rest — your printable Table Charter, the run of show for the first night, the Leader's Guide, and a word for your own soul. You won't need much of it. You'll need to make space and go first when it's honest.
If you sealed a letter to the Glory back in week one, this is the night you open it. Read what you wrote to yourself before any of this — out loud, if you're in a room. Then do what week six said: decide what continues.
You are not the source. You're the one who clears the room and opens the window. The best thing you'll do most nights is talk less and let the quiet work. If that feels like too little, you've understood it exactly. Week three will get heavy; that's not failure, that's the week working. Don't fix it. Receive it.
If a room is starting because of this one, we'd love to know — not for a count, just so we can pray for it by name. Every new table is a small homecoming.
Thank you — we're praying for your room. Now go set the table.