My old flat (apartment) was my safe haven from the world, my place to hide. The urgency with which I’d roll in from outside, heaving a sigh of relief, the peace swaddling me, silence surrounding me. I could chose when to break the silence with voices, be it tele, radio, Skype calls to friends or family. At other times, after days, and sometimes weeks of confinement, the walls would close in, silence swallowing me, my mind protesting the peace, longing for someone, anyone, to brighten the place with their friendship, stories, or news.
Anyone, that is, but the not-so welcome ones: Doctors, nurses, carers, healthcare assistants, delivery drivers carrying in parcels or shopping. I’d often feel torn between a varying measure of gratitude for the work the did but resentful of my need for their presence, my mind, and/ or my body screaming for quietness and rest. Oh I’d try, I’d really try. By my nature, I really want to like people, and I want them to like me. Did I learn some heart lessons? Absolutely. Did I let as much wash over me as I should? No way. The latter, I’m still learning, but I learnt so much about people management, over the four (or perhaps more) years I needed increasing levels of support.
I met so many people this way, whether I wanted to or not. Oftentimes, I made firm friends with people, at least for the time I needed them, popping in and out of my life, A sizeable majority would start off great, but eventually get too comy and familiar, nearly forgetting their professional role. Until they’d leave their place of work, for somewhere new and I’d start again, Over, and over, and over, and over, and over again.
To be hospitable, welcoming, is a skill I lacked in at first, but I practiced over and over again, not just with the not-so-welcome ones. For all the ones I resisted, responded, reacted to, there were friends aplenty… each a gift from God. On the squishy sofa sat so many bottoms, others reclined, lounged, relaxed, often with a beverage to hand, and a snack or three. My safe haven became theirs. A place of prayer, bringing their needs, others needs, and my own before our Heavenly Father. These are precious memories.
Rarer times still, I played host, an unfamiliar role at best. Obsessing over the menu, the shopping, the cooking… disorganised chaos ensued… but I never recall ordering takeaway due to inedible food. Occasionally the food would be very late, a ‘simple’ menu anything but. Daring something to go wrong, but willing everything to be unreasonably perfect. Name after name of people with which I once shared my life but now lost touch, life having taken over. Minutes and hours of time spent with people eating, talking, laughing, sharing, my favourite ways to spend my time, to value, appreciate, love people. The very aims of good hospitality… It really is priceless and value-full. Time I’ll never get back that could not have been better spent.
One thought on “On Hosting and Hospitality”
Wish I could put my bottom on a couch at your place and share a snack. Maybe in heaven?! Until then, we can keep sharing silly emojis and stickers in our text chats. 💚
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