The Reluctant Hostess

This title makes me think of a whiny twinky that does not want to be eaten. 

You're gonna need some comic relief, this is a long one. 

I am doing a Facebook book club with some girlfriends on a book called  A Meal with Jesus. The book is about missional living through hospitality, something God has recently put on my heart (by put on my heart I mean shoved into my face to reveal my sin). Our first assignment is telling our 'hospitality' story.

We moved to Montenegro 2 years ago to help grow the church where so few know the name of Jesus. At least that's why I thought we were coming here...silly me. God brought me here to teach 'the missionary' the gospel. He dug deep in my heart, leading me to repentance, of which I am recovering from 28  years of some major self-righteousness. I found out I usually try to earn God's favor through doing ministry in my own power. I combat shame by doing. Ministry in your own power does not work overseas, ergo psychological breakdown/Spiritual awakening leading to repentance. God has hit every source of identity I have (being creative/smart/getting things done) and laid them to waste for His glory.  He asked me to scrap my plans to save the world and instead hang out at his feet and spend time being still in his presence. He has asked me to EMBRACE joy in the sacred of everyday stay-at-home -mom-ness. What can I say...It's rough.

It feels like death, because it is.

 I kinda suck at being a mom, I am impatient, insensitive, controlling, I won't even get started about the word 'submission' when it comes to my husband. I basically think it's a great 'idea' and that is where it ends. But God wants to enact his grace in my life through my slow death, he wants to do miracles in my everyday desert soul, and I have to confess, I am pretty excited about it.  Some days I feel so weak (it's 11 am and I have lost my temper 2 times already). If the baby is sleeping, I go the 'bathroom' to cry and get angry with God, get in his face, and remind Him that he has promised BLESSING. Sometimes I feel like Jacob, that me and God are wrestling in the sand and the only thing that connects us is my weak embrace and the pathetic entreaty the He MUST BLESS ME. So in this mess, the mess of my home, this place where I already struggle with control, with cooking from scratch, with line drying clothes, with gratitude, God has basically asked me to OPEN my heart, not just to the million needs of the 3 beans and the hubs, but to anyone God brings to us who are in need. whahhhhhht?

so about hospitality.....

my story.

It begins with the deep insecurity that it 'just isn't my thing': my mom and sister got the Martha Stewart gene/hospitality gift thing. Not me. While My sister was learning how to butter bread, I was spinning around in my socks pretending to be Christy Yamaguchi. My mom and sister aren't just good cooks, they are like professional hostesses: my sister holds like 117 pristine functions at her house every year and enjoys laying the perfect white coffee cups out on a perfect row, the night before and my mom could host a like 300 people on at 22 minute notice with a Crockpot and paper towel roll and not even break a sweat. Me, well I hate people, I hate it when people eat my food, I hate cleaning, and washing bedding  spins me into depressive thoughts about the meaninglessness of life. Sometimes when I am whining to my sister about this, she reminds me that I have the pretty cuticles in the family. That is something I guess. 

My first Hospitality try was a 2 day post college reunion, a "come to my house a few days" New Year's get together in 2010. We had a ridiculous 2800 square feet abode, so I was going to show it off. At the end I realized I HATE hosting. I felt like I was in the kitchen the whole time or providing for everyone's needs or feeding a three month old, (exhausting!) while Jesse got to play board games and laugh and laugh and laugh. It ended with 90% of the guests getting a massive stomach virus (sorry if you were there). Me = no spiritual gift of hospitality.

                                 America                                                    Montenegro

  Before: 2,800 square feet. After: 800 square feet. It's awesome.

Downsize people, you will not regret it!

2012 we move to Montenegro. If I sucked at hosting before, move me to a culture where hospitality is like THE THING. It is a culture based on home visits and relationships. No one has ever been more insecure about anything, ever. We were barely surviving the culture shock and depression of that first year, then throw house guests in the mix and it got ugly real fast. In our first term in Montenegro, we had about 14 overnight guest in all at different times, it sucked. I was always confused about my role, what to feed people, and mostly what they expected.

 I think mostly I was ashamed and uncomfortable that the ugly of our family would shine though, 

 physical and spiritual:  unwashed baseboards and hot tempers.

 Once my 2 year old pooped in the middle of the living room in the middle of a delightful conversation (sorry again Ellyn).  I CAN"T DO THIS PEOPLE! Another time, Jesse and I were in a HUGE fight (the really intense silence kind) while driving our first guest to a New Year's party, said guest slowly exited the car, very slowly, making sure he made no quick movements lest I turn my indignation toward him. Suckfest. Uglyfest.

 I don't want people to see my sin. 

We told our boss, "no more guests". We still ended up taking a few out of necessity and friendship, but this was not my bag, and told God as much. As I mentioned before God laid me bare that year. I decided that I would rather rest in him than earn it. I would be foolish, I would be inefficient, I would be a mom, a help-meet, or whatever he asked for the sake of the gospel hope inside of me and trust God to change the world-HIS WAY. He gave me a word from Chronicles

9"As for you, my son Solomon, know the God of your father, and serve Him with a whole heart and a willing mind; for the LORD searches all hearts, and understands every intent of the thoughts. If you seek Him, He will let you find Him; but if you forsake Him, He will reject you forever. 10"Consider now, for the LORD has chosen you to build a house for the sanctuary; be courageous and act." 

Since the breaking at the end of that first year, God has been softly whispering joy, purpose and grace in the dish washing and the butt wiping. He keeps bringing forth the truth that our home is the sanctuary, a city on a hill in a dark country.  The enacting of grace, the spill-out of his love in the community, the 'evangelism' if you will, will be though that...word I hate...hospitality. 
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So here we begin. Currently (fall 2014) I have a family of three staying with us for two weeks. That's Jesse and I, a married couple, a 6 year old girl and my 3, 2 and 4 month old boys in 800 square feet. The baby sleeps 4 times in 4 different places around the house daily:

Nap 1 : Xander's crib

Nap 2: the closet (but in a nice padded box)

Nap 3:  our room

early bedtime: our room

late night: pack'n'play in living room. 

The only constant in that little doughnut's life is his trusty glow-seahorse who accompanies him to every musical crib rotation. But you know what?...he doesn't seem to mind. One of the first times I had the opportunities to actually cook for this family of three, I was extremely fatigued and had to lay down. As I laid there on the bed the voices returned "you are not being a 'good hostess'". Then I realized something about hospitality. A light shined into the darkness and broke away a huge lie...My entire life, growing up in the deep south of Georgia, hospitality was...a show. Flowers, nicely stacked books, Better Homes and Gardens, smiling faces. I believe the original intent of 'Sothern Hospitality' are to honor your guest with 'the show' but for me, this is basically honoring myself. The show becomes a lie. The show becomes about hiding the true reality of our lives. 

"The house always looks this clean"

 "I never lose my temper with my kids"

'"I always calmly honor my husband with a quiet spirit"

No wonder I was exhausted, who could keep that crap going very long.

Like the aforementioned Twinky the 'hostess' becomes a processed conglomeration of ingredients for an immediate sweet gratification. No real 'hospitality' is happening with that fakeness. 

What I realized is: This is the exact OPPOSITE of how hospitality works in God's Kingdom.

One is a show, the other is authentic and vulnerable display of Jesus in our family, it is about the ugly moments as much as it is about the laughter and cookies.

It's about unity, the opening of our hearts through our front doors.

It is messy, spiritually and physically, 'but come on in folks'. Watch how God redeems our ugly.

What should be a circus is a HUGE blessing. (This is absolutly true with said current family. My son is in love with their daughter, and we get to learn a little Russian.

 What should be frustrating is graceful, where there should be shame there is redemption. What should be a simple meal is partaking of a promise.

It's about bearing one another's burdens,

It's about covering each other's weaknesses in grace.

It's about exposing hearts, repentance, laughter, enjoying God's bounty.

It is about someone being blessed though a leftover piece of pizza.

It is Church

It is communion.

The physical body of Christ being shared by each other.

Like Jacob...

God has won the fight, we lay in an awkward embrace of a finished wresting match in middle of a desert, my arms and legs barley holding in through shaky fatigue. I will not let go..."Bless me God. Bless Me!"