The other day, friends from our new family group gently asked why we haven’t hosted at our place yet. We typically rotate homes, and they know we used to have folks over all of the time. For some reason, it just stopped when we abruptly changed churches. I think maybe I’ve been scared, or grieving the loss of the last season, or just plain tired. When they pressed the other night, I told them I didn’t know. There was no good answer.
We all went out to lunch yesterday after church, and one of the boys innocently asked to come home with us. I felt Holy Spirit saying now was the time, so I sent a text on the way home and invited the entire family group over for the evening. The grass needed mowing and the house wasn’t “ready,” but we straightened what we could and rested until everyone arrived.
It was, of course, the perfect summer evening. Our friends complimented our house’s quirks and ignored her flaws. The kids ate their weight in popsicles and jumped on the rusty trampoline with the sprinkler aimed right at it. The adults threw corn hole and munched on last-minute snacks. And as we applied a charcoal face mask in the bathroom, the one with the cracked sink and dripping bathtub faucet, I looked at these women in the mirror and remembered. I can’t afford NOT to have people in my business. They belong there.