Preparations

We're having a little birthday party tomorrow, and in a couple short weeks, my family will descend upon my home.  As much as I'd like to tell you that I'm not stressing out at all...

I am.

Don't worry. I'll get over it.  See, I sometimes joke about my less-than-immaculate home being "a ministry of encouragement" to other women who don't have it all together, saying that after visiting my house, they'll feel like domestic divas - or at least know that they aren't alone in the battle against clutter and sticky fingerprints.  It's a joke, but it isn't.

A few years ago, a new friend visited my home for the first time.  As I offered the obligatory apology for the mess, she stopped me with a firm, kind, "Don't ever apologize about your home."  Her point was clear. She was here for friendship, not for scenery.  Since then, I have tried to welcome people to our home with a "come as you are" attitude.  This is a home.  Make yourself comfortable.  This isn't a showcase house.  We live here, and welcome you to do the same while you are here. Don't worry about what your child might break or mess up.  Chances are, we've broken or messed it up before, and if we haven't, it was only a matter of time.

Lest anyone think me just plain lazy and ungrateful for company, I do attempt to tidy up for visitors.  Sometimes, the best I can do is to make sure everyone's dirty underwear is in the hamper.  The clean underwear might get overlooked.  (True story, our pastor came to visit one morning.  Halfway through the visit, I noticed a pair of underwear in the middle of the living room floor.  Yeah, we're that classy.  My only consolation was they were Luke's, and since Luke doesn't actually wear those Diego undies yet – since he doesn’t wear ANY undies yet – the undies in question were unquestionably clean.  Plus, when you're consoling a woman upon the death of her father, I think you kind of have to overlook undies on the floor, whether they're clean or not).  Anyhow, I do clean.  I promise.  

I was thinking about hospitality as I swept the living room tonight, and my sister came to mind - not my Wise and Wonderful Sister, but the other one, for whom I have yet to concoct a catchy moniker.  This is the sister with whom I lived for the last five months of her life, and I haven't figured out how to refer to her with the right balance of reverence and realism.  

So she'll just be My Sister tonight.

My Sister once told me that she was so thankful to God for her home that she had determined to use it to offer hospitality to others.  When I moved in, she encouraged me to help decorate, to make her home our home.  Together, we found a church we loved, and as we made friends there, we invited them to join us for Friday Food, Fun, and Fellowship Nights - dinner, games, fellowship...  fun.  It was a lovely time.

In retrospect, our home was nothing to write home about.  (Pun completely intended).  Situated on six acres of sand and weeds, the old trailer boasted a living room furnished with wicker lawn chairs and a second bedroom barely large enough for a twin bed and dresser, let alone the saddle stored at the foot of my bed and the bridles hanging in my closet.  But it was home, and we opened the doors to any who would come.  We were too busy eating chili, playing board games, and dreaming of the future to worry about what we were sitting on or how tall the weeds were.  We did stop to question why a bull was roaming the neighborhood, but that's another story...  

By the time I mopped the hallway tonight, my belief that having company has nothing to do with showing off a house and everything to do with sharing life in all its mess and beauty was firmly fixed in my heart.  With My Sister's hospitality in mind, I am eager to welcome our friends and family into our home in the coming days and weeks, whether or not I finish all the cleaning.  Once the doors open, we won't have time to think about dust and drips of milk.  We'll be enjoying life.