There are many words that might be called magical, but I think spontaneity might be at the forefront of the list.
I should be socially awkward. I’m the oldest of twelve children. We were home-educated, and when I was a teenager, we lived with the Amish for three years. All my best friends were pen pals. I didn’t do sports or sleepovers — I went to work days and butchered countless chickens or canned applesauce and okra pickles with Amish girls.
The home has turned into a stage for Instagram portraits. I want to reclaim it as a sanctuary … as a step toward the kingdom of heaven.
I never learned the words, “Text me first.”
In those days, we didn’t have phones; my mom had one, but it was always dead. So people just dropped in, and when they did they would stay awhile … a couple of days, a few weeks, a month or two. We were stunned if they came just to leave right away without having eaten with us. There was always plenty to share, and nothing was ever planned.
Sometimes girls my age would drop in and spend the afternoon with me. I couldn’t stop doing my chores just because a friend had shown up. So we would plant broccoli together while chatting, or make eggnog and popcorn for everyone, or work on the pile of mending. I never simply sat and visited — still can’t. There’s something about being able to look at something you’re working on that eases out the awkwardness in conversation lulls.
Eventually I had my own home, my own schedule, and a phone. I still didn’t live within cell range, so the words “text me first” remained an unprogrammed part of my vocabulary. I met a lot of friends at literary and music events. I would give them my number but tell them, “Don’t call me,” and proceed to give them directions to where I live. Many would show up, always when I thought, “Tonight will be quiet.”
Sometimes I would have to swallow down a moment of “I wish for some peace tonight.” I was glad for the unexpected visitors once I hugged them and asked them to sit down for a cup of tea and we started talking. I would forget myself and my supposed needs and feel that God was blessing me, my home, and these guests. They would leave, saying, “Coming to your home is like having a break from the world. Thank you so much for keeping your door open.”
I want friends — and strangers — to enter my home and find what they’ve been searching for at church. I want them to be seen and heard and to be fed and nourished. I want their doubts to have a space to be aired. If I see them fidgeting with their fingers, I want to offer them some knitting needles: “Would you like to learn?”
The home has turned into a stage for Instagram portraits. I want to reclaim it as a sanctuary … as a step toward the kingdom of heaven. A place where someone can get relief for a cold, a sore heart, a raging appetite. Home is where the heart is, they say — and a beautiful heart is always open.
I don’t believe this is a work for a select few. I believe we are all called to spontaneous hospitality. The gospel doesn’t divert for the extrovert or introvert. It remains the same for all of us. It matters not if your home is clean — clean it after your guest leaves.
We are all called to make sacrifices, to love our neighbors — and all men are our neighbors — and to be waiting, always waiting, with open arms, saying “Thy will be done,” living by faith, not fear, for whatever and whoever God brings to us.
There is nothing more sweet than opening your door to find a friend standing there, to allow them inside, offer them refreshments, and invite them in on what you were currently doing … be it deep-cleaning under the upturned couches, finishing a batch of bread, or clearing away a pile of papers so they have a place to sit. It doesn’t matter if you feel ready, or if the floors need to be mopped, or if there’s nothing substantive to eat.
A wondrous thing about becoming spontaneously hospitable is how it blots out all imperfections and pride and makes a way for the gospel to thrive within our neighborhoods, and those who might never have gone to church get to experience the power of the Holy Spirit after all.
Keturah hickman, Hospitality, Abide, Faith, Home, Lifestyle
