HOSPITALITY SCARES ME

Hospitality: Let it be an expression of love, not a project.

Journal: January 17, 1992


Back-Story

Living in low-income housing did a number on me. I scrubbed, dusted, and tried to make the townhouse shine; but it still looked like HUD housing.  

When someone asked if I liked living there, it felt like judgement. Fear and shame slipped in the door. 

A fellow writer told me the requirement for joining a critique group was hosting. She warned me that other members had really nice homes. Shame slipped in a little further.

 Add some voices in my head, that sounded a lot like Dad, about standards of orderliness, and fear grew like a monster on steroids. I could never measure up. I knew hospitality held nothing but rejection for me.

 I can still remember a Bible study that changed from meeting at church to taking turns hosting. I quit. 

"People come to see you," Mom said, "not your house."

She might also have said, "If they don't like your house, they don't have to come back."

My fear exactly.

As I reread what I felt God was speaking to my heart decades ago, the project piece fades. The love stands out. I DO love. I don't have the polish of an experienced hostess. I don't do frills very well. But I can make a pot of coffee or boil water for tea. I can, with God's help, risk one more time. Maybe two.

It's You And Me, God,
Lonnie



PS: I'm pretty sure I need to retitle my blog------50 WORDS OR MORE