Tip of My Iceberg

We received this several years ago from a friend who knew what it meant to be present with others. To quietly sit, actively listen, and provide a safe space for someone who needed a friend.

We hung this in our kitchen, a gathering place for family and friends. A location for the preparing and serving of food, for people to relax and snack, chat and share. Kitchens radiate warmth and family.

Our home has been a hangout for others from the time we bought it almost thirty years ago. Having six children meant we became a hangout for their friends. Having a large backyard meant hosting gatherings was possible.

We’ve had people live with us for extended periods of time over the years. People who valued being with family and appreciated a space to rest for a time.

We benefitted more from these guests because of what they added to our family–different ways of doing things, different insights, and different skills.

The American poet Maya Angelou once said, “People will forget what you said, forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Treating others with compassion and respect restores dignity to many who are hurting, people who feel overlooked or marginalized. There are so many things in our lives we can’t control. We can choose how we treat others.

Reaching out to others takes effort. It’s a selfless act that sees the other person as important enough to invest in. Not a place of criticism but of love. Author and theologian Henry Nouwen stated, “Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring men and women over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines.”

How often do we limit ourselves to spend time with only those who think and act like us? Or do we reach out to others hoping they’ll embrace our way of thinking and acting? Without the freedom to allow someone to be themselves in our presence we force them into an awkward lie of trying to satisfy or please us. That’s not hospitality; it’s manipulation.

Elijah was a prophet in Israel sometime during the ninth century BC. God had allowed a drought on the land because of the wickedness of Israel’s rulers. Elijah was instructed to go to Zarephath to find a widow who would help him. He did as he was told and met a widow who was gathering wood to make a last meal for her and her son. He asked her for a drink of water and something to eat. The widow believed all she had would manage one tiny meal for her and her boy before they starved.

“But Elijah said to her, ‘Don’t be afraid! Go ahead and do just what you’ve said, but make a little bread for me first. Then use what’s left to prepare a meal for yourself and your son. For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says, ‘There will always be flour and olive oil left in your containers until the time when the Lord sends rain and the crops grow again!”” 1 Kings 17:13-14.

The widow did as she was asked, and they had enough flour and oil to make bread for them all for many days to come.

This widow was honest with Elijah. She was genuinely fearful that she and her son would die from starvation, but when asked to be hospitable, she acquiesced. For her faith in giving, she received what she needed to sustain her little family.

Joan Chittister, an American nun and theologian, once said, “Hospitality is the key to new ideas, new friends, new possibilities. What we take into our lives changes us. Without new people and new ideas, we are imprisoned inside ourselves.” Hospitality opens the door to grow as individuals and gain wisdom and understanding from those who cross our paths.

That sign on our kitchen wall reminds me that inviting others into my life enhances my story. We are enriched by those who sit with us, share with us, connect heart to heart.

Stay awhile. Be with others because it makes you a better person.

The front door is open.