Category: community

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How Can We Show Hospitality to Different Enneagram Types?

I met Lisa Russell, an Enneagram coach and spiritual counselor, for drinks a few weeks ago. Before meeting, I had thought we would discuss how each Enneagram type practices hospitality.

“Why don’t we talk about how we can show hospitality to each Enneagram type instead?” she suggested, taking a sip of her drink. “That seems less self-focused and more empathetic to me.”

Lisa described the Enneagram types as differing shades on a color palatte—there can be many shades of blue, green, and grey.

We often know about ourselves, but what happens when we become students of others?

How does this transform our communication, community, and hospitality to each Enneagram type? Here are some ideas for understanding and loving individuals as we show hospitality to each Enneagram type in our life (along with a collection of quotes from some of my social media friends.)

Type 1: The Reformer (rational, idealistic, perfectionistic, principled)

According to Lisa, this type is caught up in “holy goodness.” They believe God is good and they want to be right. They have a strong inner influence and the mantra “am I good enough?” often goes through their minds. Type Ones often hold themselves to a higher standard. To welcome a One to your home, have things structured and lined up for them.

M.W. : “Invite me into your fun. Help me play!”

Jacob Robinson: “Showing “hospitality” to a One is a tough ask because of the perfectionist standards. Thus, as a One, I don’t really need “hospitality’ but friendship.”

Annie Rim: “Having a really sweet/personal detail is the best. At dinner, a bottle of wine with a story behind it. As a house guest, a bar of soap or something thoughtful. Anytime someone has done that, I’ve felt especially seen and welcomed.”

Type 2: The Helper (caring, generous, interpersonal, possessive)

As a Type Two herself, Lisa had many thoughts about how to show hospitality to helpers. When you host, Twos are usually the first ones to offer to wash your lettuce or set the table. But sometimes what the Two needs is permission to receive instead of give. They sometimes need to be given “space and time to recharge and rejuvenate and have solitude.” They want to be able to serve out of overflow, not obligation. They want to feel loved for being, not doing.

Andi Cumbo-Floyd: “Hospitality to me is often making it known that I’m wanted just for me, not for the help I can bring.”

Abby Norman: “Either give me a task or tell me everything is taken care of.”

Tanya Marlow: “I like it when people give me quality time and we have a chat about emotions and Real Stuff. I also like it when people ask me for wisdom that will help them out, especially if they’re in crisis. “

Type 3: The Achiever (success-oriented, driven, image-conscious)

To show hospitality to a Three, Lisa advised being punctual and sticking to the set time. Threes get antsy with inefficiencies in gatherings. They appreciate being praised and affirmed for what they can bring to the table. Lisa mentioned a dinner she attended where the host prepared name cards in advance. On the back of each card, the host had written encouragement in the form of “I see this in you” for each specific person. Lisa thought the Type Three would feel especially loved by this gesture.

Sue Fulmore: “The times I have felt most seen and loved is when someone asks questions which help me get more in tune with my emotions. Those people that listen with their whole heart and seek to understand me – this is where I feel most welcome.”

Marci Yoseph: “I want you to sit with me and give me the space/time to sit and relax. If you are up doing stuff I feel obligated to be up and productive too. I need permission to just sit.”

Type 4: The Individualist (sensitive, expressive, dramatic, self-absorbed)

Type Fours “feel all the feels.” Lisa recommended allowing Fours the space and freedom to experience their feelings without shame. They often long for the space to express themselves and have perhaps experienced rejection for their sensitivity. To show hospitality to a Type Four might look like inviting them to share their unique gifts.

F.J. : “Take time to understand me. Be happy to see me. Pursue me. No small talk—only meaningful talk.”

A.M. : “Ask me questions and listen well. Put pretty flowers in my room.”

Type 5: The Investigator (cerebral, perceptive, innovative, isolated)

Lisa said the best way to show hospitality to a Five is to give them space. They tend to be more introverted and sometimes need to isolate and cave up. They appreciate knowing what to expect in advance. They often need to get to a meeting early and observe. But just because they linger on the margins doesn’t mean they don’t want to be invited.

Adam Verner (my husband): “Hand me a good book and tell me to go into another room by myself for three hours before joining the crowd.”

M.D. : “It’s not always easy to articulate deep feelings when you live in your head 99.99% of the time. Having someone who makes it calm, safe, and ok for you to unravel yourself is critical … I need room and empathy to unravel and rewind and figure it out. I need demonstrated empathy which often can mean a strong hug and quality time or asking me specifically about how I am regarding an issue you know I’m struggling with or working through. Presence. I simply need presence.”

Type 6: The Loyalist (committed, security-oriented, responsible, anxious)

Sixes often have a million plans in order to be prepared for the worst case scenario. Lisa mentioned they have the “Mary Poppins bag” of resources “just in case.” They need reassurance that things will be okay. To show hospitality to a Type Six, offer them security, stability, and consistency by following through with promises you make.

A.S. : “Be consistent with invites to hang out. Not with an agenda, but just to chill.”

A.K. : “Consider my children’s needs too. It makes me feel like all of the bases are covered so we can relax and talk.”

Juliana Gordon: “If there is a party, make sure there is plenty of seating so I can make the crowd smaller.”

Cara Strickland: “I love it when people let me know what to expect in advance/anticipate concerns I might have.”

Type 7: The Enthusiast (busy, fun-loving, spontaneous, scattered)

Lisa described this type as the “Joyful Epicurean.”  She said they love to go all out and indulge. They are always worried they’ll be deprived and often suffer from FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). What Type Sevens need from their hosts is permission to be spontaneous and fun-loving. They want friends to join them in their joyful spontaneity.

Jamie Bagley: “Let me know it’s okay to curl up on the sofa with a blanket or prop my feet up. Also, offering me tea and talking about all things quirky or deeply philosophical is the way to my worn out heart. Cookies help, too.”

Roxanne Engstrom: “I love when families from other cultures invite me to go places with them or do things that they are doing to celebrate religious or cultural moment. And my love language is also food, lots of ethnic food.”

Type 8: The Challenger (self-confident, confrontational, decisive, willful)

Type Eights are strong and powerful. They appreciate honesty and “have a nose to sniff out BS,” Lisa said. They don’t like empty flattery or appreciate people gushing over them. To show hospitality to a Type Eight might look like giving them an opportunity to lead and make decisions. They enjoy people bringing confrontation into the group and feel it’s live-giving.  

Courtney Skiera-Vaugn: “If someone were to just take charge and allow me not to have to lead – start the convo, have coffee ready, show up and serve without me asking or even agreeing to (a dear friend did this the other day knowing I was super busy, she showed up, took my kids, loaded my dishwasher and made me coffee IN MY HOME.)”

E.D.: “Invite me into a trusting environment. A few friends goes a lot further than a ton of people.”

Type 9: The Peacemaker (easygoing, agreeable, complacent, people-pleaser)

Lisa said Nines are similar to Sixes in that they need to know that they will be okay. They often camouflage themselves and blend in to please others, so they may need to be drawn out with questions like, “What do you really think?” They may need prodding to do something that engages their body like hiking or going for a walk.

Mallary Covington: “People can show hospitality to me by engaging in good conversations. I love asking good questions and listening, and also love it when people ask me good questions and listen to me in return. Something that makes me feel super disconnected from others is when people ask questions but don’t actually want a real answer. Also, keeping an environment low key and low stress really makes me feel welcome and comfortable.“

A.U.: “Make me know I’m really wanted there and that you are ok with me being there. I crave deep conversations, however I always worry that if I talk about something deeper than the weather that I’m rocking the peace.”

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Although we are each unique, most of the responses I heard sang a similar tune. Most people feel loved when they are welcomed to be themselves. To do this, we put aside our phones and encourage our guests to relax. We arrange smaller groups, ask good questions, and listen for the answers. We affirm our belief that the person we are talking to right then is the most engaging and important person in the room.

About Lisa Russell:

Lisa is a spiritual counselor and Enneagram coach at Restoration Counseling in Fort Collins, Colorado. She teaches large group workshops and team and individual counseling on the Enneagram. Visit the Restoration Counseling website for more details or to sign up for an Enneagram coaching session.

More on the Enneagram:

Enneagram Institute Website (has a test and descriptions of the different types)

Typology Podcast

That Sounds Fun Podcast with Annie Downs series on the Enneagram

The Sacred Enneagram: Finding Your Unique Path to Spiritual Growth, by Christopther L. Heuertz

The Road Back to You: An Enneagram Journey to Self-Discovery, by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile

Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness releases August 13. Pre-order now and you will be eligible for some outstanding pre-order bonuses.

Sign up for my newsletter and I’ll send you Chapter 1 of Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness:

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Reimagining Neighborhoods with Tim Soerens and Paul Sparks

Many of us are disconnected, lonely, and isolated even though we’re surrounded by neighbors, strangers, and living, breathing human beings all around us. My husband and I recently attended a meeting in Denver called “Reimagining Neighborhoods” where Tim Soerens and Paul Sparks, in partnership with the Navigators, discussed this issue. As the writers of the book The New Parish and founders of The Parish Collective , they challenged us to seek community right where we live.

The evening opened with a short film about neighboring well; then several individuals shared tales of intentionally pursuing relationships with people outside their immediate comfort zones. One man told of seeking out his “third place” (besides work and home) where he has developed relationships over time by frequenting a Thai restaurant.

Another woman mentioned that her dogs help her make connections, but also shared how their neighbors enjoy a fantasy football league, a fire pit-in-the-driveway tradition on Halloween, and use Facebook to promote neighborhood gatherings. Another described their neighborhood as “a place where I belong” and someone else said “cultivating a life in common” was of utmost value to them. The speakers shared about other friend’s involvement in farmers markets, coffeehouses, garage sales, community gardens, and giving away popsicles, dessert, or meals in the local park.

After these individuals shared about their experiences with opening their homes and intentionally seeking community among their neighbors, Tim Soerens began his talk with a quote from William Blake: “We become what we behold.” He described our small, faithful actions of simply showing up in our relationships with the people around us. He talked about healing democracy not by starting from the top, but from the bottom—in our homes, workplaces, neighborhoods and cities. Soerens said, “all the systems that shape us—we’re also called to shape them as well.”

Paul Sparks said we know the gospel has broken through and shalom has prevailed when the world can look at Christians and be struck by our love for one another. He quoted Manuel Castells, who talks about the “space of flows,” where people often miss one another in a life of busyness and movement. Sparks has visited many communities where people are experimenting with good news, and when he visits, he often looks for ways the community is solving conflicts and diving deeper into humility and grace for one another. He concluded by saying that this commitment to learning how we belong to one another isn’t rocket science, but it does take commitment, presence, and a miracle, because “turning to face one another takes divine grace.”

During our short discussion time at the end, one woman pointed out that this all seems so obvious, and yet in our culture of disconnection, individualism, and independence, we almost need to re-learn how to be humans with one another.

Finding connection right where we are is both the easiest and most difficult way to cultivate community. It requires intentionality, availability, and humility. And yet I believe there’s a movement of God to stop leaving “ministry” and movements to clergy and missionaries, and remind us we are already standing on holy ground—even if that ground is our rock-covered lawns (like in Colorado where I live), our third floor apartment buildings, or our ranch in the country. God wants us to notice the people right around us—look them in the eye, speak to them, and remember that we—and they–are not alone after all. When we begin to reimagine our neighborhoods, we begin to reimagine God’s vision for a connected kingdom.

Resources:

Parish Collective: You can learn more about Parish Collective here. Parish Collective identifies, connects, and resources followers of Jesus that desire to grow the fabric of love and care in, with, and for the neighborhood.

Book List: Their website also links to a fabulous list of books relating to developing community, relationships, and neighboring well.

The New Parish Book: Check out the book The New Parish: How Neighborhood Churches are Transforming Mission, Discipleship, and Community, by Paul Sparks, Tim Soerens, and Dwight J. Friesen (IVP). About the book: “Paul Sparks, Tim Soerens and Dwight J. Friesen have seen in cities, suburbs and small towns all over North America how powerful the gospel can be when it takes root in the context of a place, at the intersection of geography, demography, economy and culture.” (Amazon)

Prayer Walk Guide: The Navigators offered a brochure to do a prayer walk in your neighborhood. I couldn’t find that one online, but I did find this neighborhood prayer walk guide that also incorporates observation and accommodations for different seasons of the church calendar.

Sign up for the monthly-ish newsletter and I’ll send you a free list of hospitality resources!

My new book Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness is now available for pre-order! You can read about the book as well as some of the advance praise for the book by visiting this page. Sign up for my newsletter above to keep up-to-date on pre-order bonuses, launch team, book recommendations, and more! The LAUNCH TEAM is open until Thursday, June 13th. You can sign up here.

Photo by Clayton Cardinalli on Unsplash

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Rethinking Dinner, Worship, and the Community of God~Review of We Will Feast by Kendall Vanderslice

“How do we bond despite our differences? We do so when we grasp and share the most basic need of all humanity: the need to eat and drink,” Kendall Vanderslice writes in her book that released last week (p. 157). I first heard Vanderslice share a lecture on a L’Abri podcast called A Sacred Story of Meals. So when I heard she was writing a book, I was eager to read it because I knew it would be smart, relatable, and inspiring. I was right.

We Will Feast: Rethinking Dinner, Worship, and the Community of God summarizes itself in the title. It’s about food, gathering as followers of God, and how a bit of creativity can reorient us toward one another. The book is organized around Vanderslice’s experiences at several different dinner churches around the United States—from New York City to California, Michigan to Texas, among others—that she visited over the course of one year. Far from a simple summary of those experiences, she draws us into meals together around tables, in gardens, pubs, or at potlucks, allowing us to imagine a different kind of life together.

She weaves her expertise as a baker into each tale, expanding on communion, feasting, and the theology that connects us to one another. She writes that “worship around the table is a communal search for every glimmer of goodness in an aching world” (p. 167). This book offers that glimmer of goodness, granting a glimpse into other peoples’ windows of experience that may differ from our own.

If you’re looking for a hopeful book about church, this book for you. If you’re looking for a book that breaks open the boxes we squeeze God, the church, and worship into, this book is for you. And if you need refreshment, encouragement, or affirmation that community can still be found within the church, then this book is definitely for you. This book will make you hungry for steaming bread and savory soup, but especially for deep connection and intentional community. It will remind you that when we gather, we experience just a bit more of God’s presence in our midst.

Sign up for my monthly(ish) newsletter and I’ll send you a list of hospitality resources for uncertain hosts (as well as book/article/podcast recommendations).

My book Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness is available for pre-order!

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links. I received a copy of We Will Feast from Eerdmans for review. All opinions are my own.

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The Table {guest post}

By Judy Douglass | Twitter: @Jeedoo417

It began with a small nudge—from God I believe: Invite your neighbors for dinner.

But what if they all come? My table isn’t big enough.

I began to look for the right table: seats 12 with an extension, light-to-medium brown, wide enough for two at each end, pedestal rather than legs, and I named a price.

A friend and I looked for two years: Craigslist, eBay, consignment stores, sales. It was not to be found. My husband suggested I just ask them to dinner and use two smaller tables.

I was sure I needed to find the table. But I was also sure I needed to invite the neighbors—two years had passed since that first nudge. So I made up simple invitations to a Texas-style barbecue and personally delivered them.

Would they come? Yes they would. Five couples said yes. With us—twelve people. But no table.

So I looked once more on Amazon. Sure enough there it was: right style, color, size and price. Could Prime get here in a week for our neighbor gathering? It was promised the morning of our party, and arrived in time for us to assemble it and decorate with some Texas flair.

And then it happened—twelve neighbors seated around the table. Some were close, others hardly knew each other, two were new to the neighborhood.

Dinner was simple: Texas BBQ from my favorite caterer, sides from my two closest neighbors, my Texas cornbread and famous peach cobbler.

The Table

We wanted everyone around the table so we could all talk together. We asked two simple questions for each person to answer over dinner and dessert: 1) Tell us a fun or surprising story from your early years. 2) Who has significantly influenced your life or what is a significant life lesson you have learned?

The conversation and laughter around the table never stopped. The man on his second round with cancer told of meeting his wife and marrying her three weeks later—they have been together more than 40 years. The doctor and his wife each gave their own versions of their courtship. The missionaries shared how they separately heard a call from God. The attorney and his wife honored the other with specific praise and told of heartache with children. The agnostic listened quietly to several stories of God’s provision.

The evening was more than I had hoped for. New friendships, greater bonding, promises to help each other. People who lived near each other took major steps toward becoming true neighbors.

Could the same connections be made in another setting? Of course. Was the table essential? Probably not.

But the table brought us all face to face, enjoying good food together, telling our stories, revealing joys and hurts, happy events and deep needs.

Thanks to the table.

What about you? What might happen around your table?

About Judy:

Judy Douglass is a writer, editor, speaker, encourager. She partners with her husband, Steve, to lead Campus Crusade for Christ (Cru) globally. She writes at www.judydouglass.com. You can find her on Facebook  and follow her on Twitter. Visit here for her most recent books.

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This month on Scraping Raisins we’re talking about practical and impractical hospitality. Be sure to follow along on my social media channels (buttons on top right of website) and subscribe to my newsletter to be updated on all the posts, plus links to thought-provoking articles from the web and a few books and podcasts.

 

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Photo by Carolyn V on Unsplash
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Serve Small {guest post}

By Sarah Rennicke | Twitter: @SRennAwake

It starts with a smile.

To look someone straight in the eyes, see into their life, and welcome them to yours.

It’s a simple hello and follows with an honest ask: “How are you?” Then, taking the time to look and see as they tell you. You remember what they said, follow up with another question, ask them again about it next time you two run into each other.

Something so small, which may at first be perceived as insignificant, quite possibly makes all the difference in the world.

Hospitality reaches beyond our homes—it’s bred in the tiny details of the day. Opening doors, sharing a smile, complimenting a jacket or eye color. It’s spreading wide our hearts to all those we rub shoulders with throughout the day. It is seeing someone—really seeing—with a deep soul-eyed stare. Noticing the person—not the problem, not the situation—but deciding to invest care into the stranger, approach them as someone created in God’s image and sharing in their value.

Listening instead of lecturing.

It’s the little things that make a person feel seen, set apart, welcomed and connected, embraced right where they are, as they are, in that moment.

It’s the little things that make a person feel seen, set apart, welcomed and connected, embraced right where they are, as they are, in that moment. @SRennAwake

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I am a director of a nonprofit youth café. I determine what we do and how we do it. I set the tone, create the intentional culture. And everything that we hope to develop in deep relationship starts with a smile and salutation. Every person who walks through the door is greeted this way. When they come to the counter to order coffee, we ask how their day is going. We really ask and respond according to hearing their response.

“How was your day?”

“What made it tiring?”

“How are you holding up with the long hours and crazy class load?”

We pay attention, and sympathize, offer them a listening ear and tell them we’re glad they’re here.

We want to create a space where teens feel seen and welcomed as soon as they cross the threshold, somewhere they can be fully themselves and breathe from the crazy world around them. Give them a piece of peace, if only for thirty minutes or however brief their stay.

Every time, make their day a little better. Touches of grace sprinkled in simple conversations, a gateway into talk that’s real, building blocks for true and genuine relationship.

Sometimes hospitality means shrinking down into the smallness of details, into the little things of life that often get passed over, forgotten. To step in where others feel they are too busy to dig into the trivial, the minute moments where another human being is SEEN as who they are—a brother, a sister, stitched of the same skin.

Could it be small things that show we’re approachable, that draw the onlooker closer to the light of our fire? Such impractical hospitality can turn the axis of affirmation upside down, make a world of a difference to one who is looking for something different in this world.

How we respond within seconds of an introduction makes an impression that will last for a good long while. Let us seek to serve small, and love with openness every day so the world can’t help but be drawn to the divine.

About Sarah:

Sarah loves words. She also loves people. And she loves weaving them together in honest and vulnerable ways that cut underneath the surface and break open the longings of the heart. She is a writer whose words breathe vulnerability and hope into longing souls. Sarah is a director for a nonprofit student center, writes for numerous international ministries, is a member of Redbud Writers Guild, and invites readers to sit with her awhile at www.sarahrennicke.com and connect with her on Twitter and Instagram at @srennawake.

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This month on Scraping Raisins we’re talking about practical and impractical hospitality. Be sure to follow along on my social media channels (buttons on top right of website) and subscribe to my newsletter to be updated on all the posts, plus links to thought-provoking articles from the web and a few books and podcasts.

I still have a few spots open this month, so email me at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com if you’re interested in guest posting! You can find writing guidelines here. I would need your submission by October 15th;-)

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When Church Feels Like a Masquerade {guest post}

By Nichole Woo |  Blog

It didn’t look like sacred space, just your typical high school auditorium. Three steps in, though, I was spellbound.

Outside, on the swarming streets of Taipei, my 5’10” frame and frizzy auburn hair screamed “foreigner.” Inside, among the concrete walls and rows of upholstered chairs, I blended in. Here, I was just another “other,” joining a pallet of skin tones as diverse as the nationalities represented. I entered the sea of “-an’s” and “o’s,” guiding my “Caucasi-an Americ-an” self through the crowd. As voices lifted to the Most High, we, the collective “other” instead became, “together.” I was seven thousand miles away from my street address, but in this embrace of belonging, I felt home.  Together as a cloud of witnesses from every corner of the earth, we, the Church, breathed heavenly air … in a high school auditorium.

Heaven and high school–these aren’t the spaces I’m used to. (Dare I even mention them in the same sentence?)

I’ve looked for “others” in churches back home, “others” in every sense of the word.  Racial and ethnic minorities are few, reflecting the demographics of where I live.

But the other “others” are veiled, too: The lonely, depressed, hurting, and addicted. Maybe they’re sitting pew-side, but incognito. High schools reflect a remarkably similar scenario. Thriving or even surviving there is all about disguise. Most of us wore our share of masks there. It’s an expected step in the coming-of-age-journey.

But should church feel like a masquerade, too?

Growing up with stellar Sunday school attendance, I’ve become a master at church disguises.  I know just what to wear, what to say, and how to play my role right. (As a child, I faithfully packed jeans for the drive home, because two hours a week in a dress was my limit. We lived three minutes away from the church.) For the most part, it’s allowed me to fit in. But my performances and costumes have never helped me belong. Not once.

There’s a difference.

True belonging begs an authenticity that’s impossible to achieve in costume. It demands a de-masking of sorts, exposing our vulnerability underneath.  It’s the weeping, skinned-kneed child, running for her consoling mother’s embrace. There is no cover up. When received, she will not respond — tear-stained cheeks and trembling lips — with “I’m great! Really busy, but great!” She runs to wide-open arms that see her as she is, but still stay open. She knows she belongs there. She is family, and blood is thicker than water.

Yet many of us sit, pew-side, blood-bought brothers and sisters in a collective cover-up. We shut ourselves out with disguises, instead of finding open arms. We perceive that we aren’t enough, so we hide behind our “Facebook/Instagram bests.” Here, socioeconomic status often determines small group status.  Indeed, wearing our “Sunday best” may even help us penetrate the elite inner circles.  (Yep, let’s be honest, churches have their “in-crowds” too . . .) We dress up to fit in, but we still find ourselves on the outside.

Why is it that church often feels more like high school, than “home”?

It’s clearer to me now, 7,000 miles away. Here, Taipei International Church meets in a high school auditorium. In this place, we are all unmistakably “others.”  No mask we wear will homogenize our DNA. But we share the same heavenly Father, who welcomed us with open arms, and grafted us into His family tree. We recognize that we were all once sinful strangers, and He let us in. Here is the beauty of the Church:  In Christ, the “other” transforms into “together.” We are one in Christ, despite all of our differences.

What if we all just acknowledged our “otherhood” instead of trying to hide it? 

At his life’s end, Martin Luther wrote, “This is true. We are all beggars.” All of us are the “other,” bankrupted outsiders in desperate need of a Savior to pay our debt. And He did. Now we’re family.  Maybe we need to start acting like it, and toss the masks.

I’m working on mine, but it’s tied pretty tight.

 

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About Nichole:

Despite a deep desire to belong, Nicole Woo often finds life nudging her to the margins. She’s been the only girl on the team, the only public speaking teacher afraid of public speaking, the only Caucasian in the extended family photo, and the only mom who lets her kids drink Fanta. She calls the Rockies home, often pretending to be a Colorado native in spite of her flatland origins. Visit her blog at www.walkthenarrows.com.

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This month on Scraping Raisins we are talking about Friendship and Community. Be sure and subscribe to my newsletter or follow on social media so you don’t miss a post!

The theme for October is Practical and Impractical Hospitality, so visit the submissions guidelines if you’re interested in guest posting! New and seasoned writers welcome;-)

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

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What Happens in Neighborhoods {guest post}

By Afton Rorvik | Twitter: @AftonRorvik

When we moved into our new neighborhood, I did not know what to expect. Would we make friends and find connection?

I grew up on two acres of land in what was then rural Colorado, surrounded by German Shepherds, tomato plants, Russian Olive trees, gophers, and a variety of snakes and mice. Our nearest neighbors—mangy sheep and burly riding horses—didn’t bother us and we didn’t bother them. Of course, the barbed-wire fences helped.

When I moved to a Chicago suburb to attend school, I had no idea I would still be in this suburb decades later. Far away from rural Colorado, I now live next to people, not sheep and horses.

My husband and I and our two kids had only lived in our new house in a Chicago suburb for a few days when several women knocked on our door and invited me to go to a movie with them. I declined, explaining how overwhelmed I felt with the details of moving. My neighbors persisted. A block party. An open house. Coffee at the little shop down the hill.

So very different than living next to sheep and horses.

Nancy lived at the heart of our suburban neighborhood although not exactly at the geographic center. She came early to every neighborhood event and left late. Her mac and cheese had long ago become standard fare at all potlucks. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. She loved to walk through our streets, usually with her niece’s Jack Russell Terrier in tow. Walking, actually, does not describe what Nancy did. Her meanderings more resembled a halting waltz. She glided slowly, gracefully down the sidewalk until she spotted a neighbor. Then she stopped. Immediately.

The seasons came and went. I started to accumulate phone numbers and began to learn names. I had several conversations with Nancy and other neighbors. Our daughter memorized the names of all the dogs.

Then one winter, in the early hours of dawn, the piercing sound of an ambulance shook our neighborhood. As neighbors woke up that morning, news spread quickly: Nancy, only 49, had had a heart attack. The paramedics had not been able to spare her life.

I did not anticipate my reaction to this news: I sobbed.

I did not know Nancy well, and yet I did. I had come to depend on her mac and cheese, her face-splitting grin, and her probing questions. I loved her stories of talking about Jesus with people in line at the grocery store or Jehovah’s Witnesses who knocked at her door.

And now?

Bev had already planned her annual Christmas open house for the day of Nancy’s funeral. We all discussed canceling it, but then someone voiced our collective thoughts, “No. We need to be together. Nancy would want it that way.”

And so we celebrated Nancy’s life and faith at her funeral. The church oozed with friends and families. We carpooled there and back. We gravitated to Bev’s house where we all listened for Nancy’s heart-felt laugh and distinctive voice. We talked of her mac and cheese as if it had been some rare delicacy. We remembered. We hurt. Together.

I did not know that this happened in neighborhoods.

How thankful I am to live near people—these people—who have taught me the great joy of living connected, living in community.

About Afton:

Afton Rorvik savors words, flavored coffee, time outside, and living connected. Although an introvert, she has come to realize that what really matters in life is people and faith in Jesus, which gives her strength and courage to live connected. She is the author of Storm Sisters: Friends for All Seasons. Follow her at her website, www.aftonrorvik.com, Facebook and Twitter.

 

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This month on Scraping Raisins we are talking about Friendship and Community. Be sure and subscribe to my newsletter or follow on social media so you don’t miss a post!

The theme for October is Practical and Impractical Hospitality, so visit the submissions guidelines if you’re interested in guest posting! New and seasoned writers welcome;-)

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

*This post contains Amazon affiliate links.

Photo by Daria Nepriakhina on Unsplash

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Run to the Darkness: A Meeting with Michelle Ferrigno Warren, Author of The Power of Proximity

I met Michelle Ferrigno Warren in a crowded empanada restaurant on a hot summer day in downtown Denver. We crossed the street to a pizza joint for a bit more quiet and privacy and Michelle let me ask about her work on immigration reform in Denver and the U.S., her experience writing The Power of Proximity, and her plans for the future.

Michelle and her husband, David, have lived in Denver for over 20 years and are the founders of Open Door Ministries, a ministry serving homeless and low income populations. They raised their three children in an immigrant neighborhood in inner city Denver and Michelle said they have no regrets about this. In fact, she wishes everyone could live the life she has lived. I once heard her share on a podcast about the nuanced lives her children have experienced because of where they live. They grew up speaking Spanish and have a desire to travel and learn about other cultures.

Michelle is the advocacy and policy engagement director for the Christian Community Development Association, an organization that empowers and equips leaders to serve in urban centers around the world. Dr. John Perkins began the CCDA with the vision of the “3 R’s”—relocation, reconciliation, redistribution, which has expanded now to 8 principles. Michelle works towards justice in the public sphere because she believes that “just because something is a law does not mean it serves the cause of justice. We need to enable the courts of law to rule in a manner that brings about justice for all the people” (118-119). She believes that as followers of Jesus, we are called to more than engaging in ministry from a distance.

We talked about what her children are doing now, and she shared about a couple “Michelle-isms” she tells her kids over and over again. “I remind my kids that they are the Light of the World and to not be afraid. When you see darkness run toward it with the Light.”

“I remind my kids that they are the Light of the World and to not be afraid. When you see darkness run toward it with the Light.” @mcfwarren

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She hopes her children bring light to every dark corner of the world. The other thing she always reminds them when they discuss their plans for the future is “Don’t forget the poor. Don’t forget the poor. Don’t forget the poor.”

Michelle said she wrote her book, The Power of Proximity, with Millennials in mind because they are so hungry to impact the world. In her book she writes that “learning of the pain of others can compel us to become proximate, which should move us to engage more deeply. The more we know as a result of our chosen proximity, the more we have the opportunity to put our words—our ‘talk’—into action … This shouldn’t be a big stretch for Christians who follow Jesus” (71). She hopes Millennials will choose to live proximate to the issues and people they talk about helping. She also writes that “privileged people will listen to privileged people. You have a voice,” and goes on to talk about Paul using his privilege as a Roman citizen and Pharisee to spread the gospel (120).

Michelle struggled with whether or not she should write this book because she was worried it might not be her story to tell. She feared hijacking the stories of immigrant neighbors and friends she’s lived among over the years. But her good friend, Daniel Hill, the author of White Awake, called her out and said something along the lines of “the most deceptive lies are the ones painted in nobility.”

Before writing the book, she asked a group of friends to gather and do something called a “clearing committee” or “clearness committee,” a Quaker spiritual practice of worship, sharing, and prayer, to help her discern her next step. Through this experience, she realized she was using fear and the fact that she is a white woman as an excuse not to do what she knew deep down God was calling her to do.

Michelle wrote her first draft of The Power of Proximity in just three months. She reserved every Friday to write, but also spent many evenings from 10 pm to midnight completing revisions and editing. She admitted most of the book came from the previous twenty years of teaching, talks and speeches that were so familiar to her that she simply needed to record them all in one place.

Her book had a profound impact on my life personally in that it influenced the neighborhood where we bought a house last summer. Though we are in a decent neighborhood of houses built in the 1970’s, we purposely chose to live here because of the more diversified racial and socioeconomic groups that live all around us compared to other places in our city. Her words moved me as she wrote “we should be willing to leave our communities of comfort to choose a proximate place and humbly and sacrificially follow Christ’s example of love” (71).

I handed her the copy of her book I brought with me so she could thumb through and see the notes and tons of underlines throughout the pages. As a soon-to-be author, I imagined it might feel good to see how your words impact others. She smiled as she looked through, laughing and saying “Oh, that’s good!” She flipped to the chapter on race because she said that was one of her favorites, then opened the cover and signed the book, “What a joy it is to connect with you on your journey! Keep the Faith, Michelle.”

As we finished up our time together, I asked Michelle where she sees herself in ten years. With a gleam in her eye, she said, “Probably in the Senate.” I congratulated myself on my inner prophet because on the way to meet Michelle, I had told my husband, “I feel like I’m going to meet up with a Senator or something.” I told her it was a sign that she should definitely do it.

I don’t think I’ve ever met such a powerful, confident, or connected woman in person and yet I was intrigued by her quirks (all she ate was three sausage links and marinara sauce mixed with parmesan cheese) and softness (she wore a ruffled floral shirt, denim shorts, and sandals). The fact that Michelle was willing to meet with me even though I have a relatively small platform and no political pull or influence was a testament to her humility (or at least to her Christian sense of duty to serve the lowly bloggers, writers and wannabe do-gooders of the world). Our meeting was one of the highlights of my summer.

The Power of Proximity is a buy-and-keep-on-your-shelf sort of book rather than a borrow-from-the-library-or-from-a-friend type of book. You will want to scribble stars, notes and excessive underlines throughout every page. Beware, though, her words may propel you to flee comfort, security, and safety in order to live out your life of love from a place of proximity.

Meeting Michelle Ferrigno Warren with my friend, Annie Rim

More about Michelle (from Amazon):

Michelle Ferrigno Warren is the advocacy and policy engagement director for the Christian Community Development Association. She is an immigration, education, and human service policy specialist and is an adjunct faculty member at Denver Seminary. With over twenty years experience working in Christian community development, Michelle is a part of the national Evangelical Immigration Table and helps consult for the National Immigration Forum. She is a founding staff member of Open Door Ministries, a large community development corporation. Michelle, her husband, David, and their three children live in an immigrant neighborhood in Denver, Colorado.

Follow Michelle on Twitter at @mcfwarren.

You can hear Michelle interviewed on these podcasts:

Brew Theology: Part 1 and Part 2

My Changing Faith Podcast

Seminary Dropout

Open Door Sisterhood

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BOOK GIVEAWAY

We’re giving away a FREE copy of Sarah Quezada’s book, Love Undocumented! To enter, visit either my Instagram post or Facebook post and tag up to four friends you think might be interested in her book. I’ll enter you once per friend that you tag. Giveaway will end Wednesday, August 29th, at midnight (MT). No bots and only U.S. residents, please!

 

 

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The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger.” Follow along on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest posts or sign up for the newsletter below for links to the most recent blog posts, thought-provoking articles from the web, and a few of the things I’m into these days.

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

 

*This post contains Amazon affiliate links

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Hot Pooris and an Open Door {guest post}

By Mary Grace Otis | Instagram: @theglobalmomshow

Piping hot pooris, puffed up perfectly—waiting for us. Crisp masala dosa, coconut chutney, sambar, idly. South Indian breakfast was fresh, hot, and free at Aunty’s house. We would hop in a rickshaw some mornings at 7 a.m. and head to her house in order to eat breakfast there and be back in time for work at 8:30. We usually didn’t call ahead. We just showed up—two single girls in their twenties, hungry for hot food and a home.

Robin and I had been college roomates, then spent several years working various jobs, she in China and North Carolina, me in Germany and Alabama. Both of us were ready for a new adventure, so when I called her up and asked her to go to India with me for a year, she immediately said yes. Now that we were here, we were grateful for every glimpse of kindness and welcome shown to us by new acquaintances who would soon become friends.

India was wrapping us up in its cacophony of sounds, scents, and symbols, and we were loving it. But all the unfamiliarity would often lead to sensory overload, and we found refuge in the home of Aunty and Uncle Sundararajan. The two had an arranged marriage—he a Christian, she a Hindu. His evangelicalism led him to leave his caste and convert –something that lost him dear family relationships and reputation. She married him anyway, finding him kind and trustworthy. As he traveled, sharing his faith, he asked his wife, a multi-linguist, to work with a Bible translation society translating scriptures. When she translated the book of John, she came to believe in the man called Jesus. Since then, the two had lived a dedicated life of ministry together.

Their home was always open—a steady stream of guests coming from all over India to record gospel messages and readings in different tongues to reach those who did not have scripture yet in their language. With two boys in their twenties also living at home, their house was a natural gathering spot for young people working at Google, Dell, and Seimens who were far away from their own families.

On Sunday afternoons, we would often show up at lunch time, knowing that if we did, we would be naturally included at the table. In India, the guest is never turned away. Guests are sacred. Guests are honored. Guests are always welcomed.

Guests are sacred. Guests are honored. Guests are always welcomed.

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What a blessing it was to be received with a seat pulled up to the table and the table filled with people willing to share their portions so that we could partake.

I didn’t realize until I became a wife and a mom just how much work this constant meal-making was. How Aunty rose early every day to roll the chapati, stir the sambar, boil the dahl, puree the chutneys, and fry the vegetables. She cooked for hours, preparing food to be available for whoever might arrive. She was willing to cook more when more people came.

Aunty and Uncle’s house was better than any restaurant. Not only was the food fantastic, but the company was as well. Sometimes I just sat in the kitchen on a stool and talked to Aunty while she worked. Other days I chopped the carrots and bell peppers or flipped the breaded eggplant sizzling in a cast iron pan. Some days I walked with Uncle to the Richmond Town market to pick out the best tomatoes or curry leaves.

Several nights I slept there in a simple guest room, with mismatched batik bed covers and a foam pillow. But in that bed was the sweetest sleep. There were no matching sheets, no fluffed pillows, no flowers on the end table—no end table. But for me and Robin, the welcome was not in fancy things or perfectly decorated rooms, the welcome was found in the food, the fellowship, and the simple feeling of belonging. The attitude was: “There’s always a place for you at our table. No matter when you come, you are always welcome.” For two girls alone in India, that was the best hospitality we could have asked for.

Living in the U.S., my hospitality muscles have atrophied. I’ve been exhausted from work and child rearing, and my home seems to be an ever-evolving mess. I’m reticent to invite people over because my life often feels chaotic. Then there’s the space issue–our dining room table doesn’t fit more than six easily, and the rest of the house is crowded with five bodies living in a “small” (by American standards) home. And I don’t have the cooking chops of Aunty–my meals are often assembled from pre-cooked ingredients or are simple staples like spaghetti, stir fry, or tacos.

But these are all excuses. Excuses that my Indian friends did not make. They had people over anyway. Even if everything was not perfect. I was invited into homes where newspaper was the tablecloth and the “sofa” was a hard wooden board on legs. I’ve been squeezed into a kitchen the size of a closet (and not an American walk-in closet!), and I’ve sat on plastic stools pulled up to a coffee table for dinner. And all of it was wonderful because the hosts made me feel welcome. The expectations were different. The food was important, yes, but more than that, the joy of welcoming someone into a home was the most important part. Of course, there are perfectly large banquet halls in India that are filled with absolute elegance and luxury. There are homes that are magically decorated and opulent in their beauty. But the ones I felt the most welcome in were those where the host simply said “pull up a chair, you are most welcome.”

About Mary Grace:

Mary Grace Otis is a writer, editor, and podcaster who lives with her husband and three boys in northern Michigan. You can find her podcast and posts at theglobalmom.com, join the Global Moms Network on FB, or follow her on IG @theglobalmomshow.

 

BOOK GIVEAWAY–ENDS JULY 31st!

We are giving away a copy of All the Colors We Will See: Reflections on Barriers, Brokenness, and Finding Our Way, so visit my Instagram or Facebook post and tag up to four friends and you’ll be entered one time per friend that you tag! Giveaway ends Tuesday, July 31st, at midnight (MT). Only U.S. residents, please! (and no bots….)

 

 

 

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The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger,” so send me a post if you have a good idea!

Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. Guest posts should be between 500 and 900 words. Be sure to include a headshot and bio. You can find all the guidelines here.

And if you’re not a writer, be sure to follow me on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest blog post or sign up for my newsletter below for links to thought-provoking articles, a digest of blog posts, and a few things I’m into these days! xo

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

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South Africa, Funerals, and My Vegetable Peeler {guest post}

By Debbie Horrocks | Instagram: @hopebreathes

My vegetable peeler was the first thing on my list of ‘Stuff to Take to South Africa’. It was a wedding gift and has always worked miracles on a butternut squash. I had no idea what life in the township of Soshanguve would look like, but I knew I would cook. Perhaps just for my family, but hopefully for others too, I dreamed of nourishing friendships in our new community. In the last minute rush the peeler was left in the kitchen drawer, but it quickly made its way from Scotland by post.

The peeler did indeed tackle many a pumpkin and potato during my three years in South Africa. My fears of people not enjoying my culinary offerings gradually disappeared with each clean plate, and each tupperware filled with leftovers. But I never expected that ‘peeling’ would also be a way to love and support my neighbours.

Funeral practices can be enlightening when learning a new culture. In Soshanguve funerals were almost always on a Saturday morning and there was an expectation that the neighbourhood would gather and be well fed. Following a death in the community, neighbouring families would contribute financially towards the food. There was an almost wordless understanding that local women would gather at the home of the bereaved on Friday night to prepare the food. As the women peeled vast quantities of carrots and squash, and sliced buckets of cabbages, onions and beetroot, we showed solidarity with the bereaved.

The first time I went ‘to peel’, a summer storm hit and the rain dropped through the joints in the temporary shelter. I didn’t know to take my own utensils, so I was left peeling squash (and occasionally my finger) with a dull knife and no chopping board. I panicked about what to chat about with all these ladies, who eventually suggested I do a slightly less dangerous task. Through the awkwardness, I found comfort in the simple, practical task in front of me.

The next time, I possibly offended the family by leaving before the end when we would drink rooibos tea and eat simple cakes together. I soon learned to take my own peeler, which was much admired for its ‘strength’. I also learned that it didn’t matter that I wasn’t fluent in the language, or that I had no idea what to talk about. I was welcomed and accepted, standing shoulder to shoulder over colossal metal bowls. It simply mattered that we were there, utensils in hand, showing the family that we hadn’t forgotten, that we were together.

We went to a lot of funerals in our neighbourhood, it seemed there was too much sickness, tragedy and death in that place. Towards the end of my time in Sosh a dear friend passed away. She had been a colleague, cultural guide, teacher and mother to me, and she always looked out for me on those Friday evenings. The night before Mama Jane’s funeral I went to her home to help prepare the funeral food. The absence of her reassuring smile across the tables of vegetables made this funeral more personal. I realised that I needed this gathering too.

Yes, it was important to comfort and support the family, but this custom also created a community to share my grief with. Standing alongside those women and sharing our task meant that we were each less alone.

Back in my home culture and in my mother tongue, I often still don’t know what to say. But I have learned the importance of conveying solidarity; I can reach for my peeler and prepare a dish to show that I see and care and grieve too.

Peeling. Chopping. Nourishing. Grieving. Being. Together.

About Debbie:

Debbie loves, learns and lives in the East End of Glasgow, Scotland with her husband and two wee boys. People, food and stories are her favourites, preferably combined. She writes at Hope Breathes about nurturing our souls and engaging with our communities. Follow her on Instagram!

 

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Our next theme this month is “Hospitality Around the World.” Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. Guest posts should be between 500 and 900 words. Be sure to include a headshot and bio. And if you’re not a writer, be sure to follow me on social media (links in upper right) to keep up with the latest blog post or sign up for my newsletter below for links to thought-provoking articles, a digest of blog posts, and a few things I’m into these days! xo

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

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