Category: hospitality

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A Philosophy of Home {guest post}

By Josi Seibert

My husband and I live in Chicago on the north side on a quiet, apartment-lined street called Mozart in a neighborhood where our white faces are the minority. Our apartment building is 100 years old and is a four-flat containing four apartments or homes. We (and our two small children) live on the first floor. The other three homes are inhabited by people in our church community. Some call it a Christian commune, some joke it’s a cult. 😉 But we call it intentional and awesome.

The ins and outs of our home are fluid and our door is revolving. Our beloved neighbor-friends “pop in” to chat, ask a question, borrow something, eat a meal or play with our wild kids. Our Afghani friends, who live a couple blocks away, knock on our door at 11pm in tears needing help and comfort. Whether weekend stays of family and friends, a Brazilian man here for a month to study English, or dear friends needing a place to lay their heads in between homes, we have experienced the life-giving, joy-yielding potential of hospitality. We swap stories over bowls of pasta and glasses of wine, laugh together playing Catch Phrase and Funny Bones, and share traumas and dreams over chocolate and cups of steaming tea.

As I’ve thought about hospitality, read about it, practiced it and been a beneficiary of it, I want to share with you five beliefs I now hold that have helped inform my philosophy of home and opening my door to neighbors, friends, and strangers.

1. All is gift. Remembering that everything in my possession (my home, my family, my money, my talents and my stuff) has been loaned to me. As a child of God, I believe He is my heavenly Father, He provides for my needs and that He is the giver of everything good. All is a gift from His generous hand that I neither deserve nor earn nor own. I believe that at the end of my life, I leave empty-handed. All my precious stuff is provisional and short-lived. This belief unpeels my white-knuckled fingers from their grasp around MY things. This belief opens my hand, palms up, ready to share and bless others with what was never mine in the first place.

2. Exclusion vs. embrace. When I meet people I quickly categorize them. Are they better than me? Am I better than them? Are they a threat to me in any way? Can we be so different and be friends? My insecurity demands I judge and compare, which results in walls, defense, exclusion. But when I take a step back and remember every person’s origin, I see an image bearer. Someone who was created in the image of God with beauty and dignity. She is worthy of my time. He has a story to tell and aches to be heard. She has something to contribute. He longs to be loved, lovable, and loving. When I understand how God sees and values them, I choose to soften and embrace.

3. Give it away. Serving others and following Jesus are inseparable. In the Gospel of Mark chapter 10 Jesus says to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be great must become a servant. Whoever wants to be first among you must be your slave. That is what the Son of Man has done: He came to serve, not to be served—and then to give away his life in exchange for many who are held hostage.” (MSG) Jesus gives the example of what it is to serve – both friends and enemies (he invited his betrayer to the table and washed his feet). Hospitality invites us to choose a sacrificial posture of service to others, giving our lives away to build the body of Christ.

4. Boundaries. I think there is a place for boundaries to our homes, especially if our health or marriage is at stake. However, independent Western thinkers, like myself, are bent to believe we need “my space.” We feel entitled to “me time” and do our best to dodge inconveniences of any kind. I’m the first to confess that this is sooooooo me. And, yes, we may need time and space, but they seem to serve us as excuses NOT to invite or live a life accessible to others. I’m convinced, based on personal reflection and experience, that one of the biggest dangers and inhibitors to love (including hospitality) is busyness. We’re hyper-scheduled people with little room for margin. And it’s margin that lets people in. It’s margin that opens the door. It’s margin that has time to listen and to learn how to love another. It’s an act of vulnerability to be available and give people access to your life and home, but it’s the way of love.

5. Learn by being a guest. It’s important to be both the host and the guest. It’s both good and sacred to be the guest. Hospitality is an expression of the heart and nature of God. It is a picture of God the Father, Jesus the Son and the Holy Spirit inviting outsiders to become part of the family of God. I, and all that identify as the family of God, was first a guest. Our being a recipient first informs how we host. God’s generous, all-welcoming love is the stick we measure with and evaluate our own lifestyles and practice of hospitality.

Hospitality is an expression of the heart and nature of God.

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Hospitality has been a good teacher to us. Over the past seven years we’ve intentionally practiced hospitality, we’ve learned lessons in how to create a safe place where people can hang their hats, let their guards down, have their needs noticed and met and belong. Lessons in how to nourish our guests’ stomachs and souls. Lessons in self-sacrifice and laying down our lives for the good and benefit of others. Lessons in the beauty in diversity of culture and beliefs and the power of listening, relating, encouraging, disagreeing and still loving. Lessons in how church can be found around our table. Lessons in how hospitality is a beautiful means to share the gospel.

In a word, hospitality is love.

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Josi’s Recommendations for Books on Hospitality:
The Gospel Comes with a House Key by Rosaria Butterfield
Imitating Jesus by Lewie Clark
Bread and Wine by Shauna Niequist

About Josi:

Josi grew up on a farm in rural Nebraska. She received a Masters in Biblical and Intercultural Studies in Chicago. Shortly thereafter, Josi and her husband moved to West Africa to do business and non-profit work. Once they returned to Chicago, they worked for a refugee resettlement agency. Now they work for Icon Ministries to make disciples of Jesus within the context of love, friendship and hospitality. She is enthused about having people around her table, finding ordinary adventures with her husband and two young kiddos and uniquely living out Jesus’ commission to make disciples of all nations.

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GIVEAWAY!!!

Head over to my Instagram before October 31st–I’m giving away these FOUR amazing 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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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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Challenging the Status Quo: A Review of ‘Finding Holy in the Suburbs’

Ashley Hales doesn’t pull any punches in her new book, Finding Holy in the Suburbs, which debuts today. In it, she critiques the American Dream, illuminating the allure of the gods of consumerism, individualism and busyness for many Christians living in the suburbs. She challenges readers to reevaluate Western values in light of the cross, calling them to wake up to their desire to be filled and belong (p. 23). At the end of each chapter, she suggests practical solutions in the form of “counterlitergies,” offering steps to develop new behaviors and ways of thinking.

Having grown up in a similar era of 1990’s world-changer-youth-group-sermons, I could relate to Ashley’s longing for purpose and meaning in a world that ended up being less radical than she imagined. I, too, left a more radical life for a home in the suburbs. I often wonder how to navigate life by the extraordinary teachings of Jesus within the confines of my ordinary, and often seemingly mundane life.

Ashley’s book was perhaps not written for the weirdoes like me who already buy all our clothes secondhand, loathe shopping, or never wanted to own a minivan or home in the first place. I acknowledge that I’m the outlier, though, so I think this book is relevant to anyone who loves shopping, tends towards schedules and busyness, and always dreamed of the White Picket Fence Life. That just wasn’t me.

I appreciated the chapters on hospitality, vulnerability, repentance, belovedness, and shalom. She integrates Bible stories as well as references to other books throughout her chapters in a non-intrusive, helpful way. I would have enjoyed more personal stories, but that’s because I gravitate towards memoirs and personal essays more than Christian living-type books.

I loved how she stayed oriented around Jesus, the cross, and the holy life we are called to live as children of God. She says that “experiencing existential exile, even in the suburbs, is a gift because it points to our shared human homesickness” (p. 45). The crux of the message of this book is that this world is not our true home.

If you live in the suburbs and are being lulled to boredom by the expectations of the Jones’ and your own unsatisfied attitude with your life, then this book will wake you up. Ashley is a truth-teller, preacher, and wise counselor. She challenges the status-quo and leaves little room to remain unchanged.

If you live in the suburbs and are being lulled to boredom by the expectations of the Jones’ and your own unsatisfied attitude with your life, then this book will wake you up.

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You can buy Finding Holy in the Suburbs here. Listen to Ashley Hales being interviewed about this book on the Fierce and Lovely Podcast.

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

*I received an advance copy of this book, but all opinions in this review are my own.

**The book contains Amazon affiliate links.

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

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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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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Hospitality Isn’t a Gift. It’s Something More. + BOOK GIVEAWAY

This post kicks off our theme this month, “Practical (and Impractical) Hospitality.” Check back, comment, and/or follow along on social media to join the conversation! Plus, we’re giving away a free copy of Just Open the Door! Find more details at the bottom of this post.

By Ronne Rock | Twitter: @RonneRock

The kind Vicar smiled and asked who might like to host an evening of good food and great conversation, and sign-up sheets were placed on the table that serves as foyer and guest registry and whatever else is needed on any given Sunday. Church services in an elementary school cafeteria mean that communion is served each week amidst signs encouraging kids to be polite and clean up after themselves, and food pantry contributions are collected in the “nut-free zone” to the right of the front doors. There is no special lighting, no comfortable seat cushions for the lunch tables turned into pews—but there is a nice coffee bar for everyone who attends, set up by volunteers who are quick to offer a napkin and a smile, served up with a piece of homemade pumpkin bread.

Church in an elementary school means that anything that happens beyond Sunday mornings happens somewhere else. Most of the time, that somewhere else is in someone’s home.

Folks who know me would see it is as no surprise when I raised my hand without hesitation to host a dinner. The kitchen and the table are sacred places to me—so much so that I even have a section on my website devoted to #kitchentherapy. There are always lessons to be learned, there is always grace to be lavished and hope to shine brightly there.

Some folks say I have the spiritual gift of hospitality.

I beg to differ.

Because I don’t believe hospitality is a gift.

Oh, I think there are most certainly gifts that are divinely inspired – mine are exhortation, leadership, and wisdom (though I question the last one quite often when I can’t find my glasses while they’re sitting on my face or I freak out that my phone has gone missing while I’m talking to someone on it). But I believe hospitality isn’t one of those gifts for any of us. Rather, it’s a discipline to be practiced by each and every one of us. It’s sprinkled all throughout scripture – in Romans 12, we are told to be kind to everyone and extend hospitality to strangers, and in Hebrews 13, it says that our hospitality may even be brightening the day of angels. Hospitality goes far beyond hanging out with friends. It means caring for strangers, refugees, widows, orphans, wayfaring travelers in need of a little kindness.

It even means treating our enemies with kindness. Yes, even our enemies.

Hospitality isn’t something only some of us are divinely equipped to do. No, hospitality is at its essence a reflection of the personality of Jesus. Maybe that’s why 1 Peter 4:8-9 likens being hospitable with loving well – and we are encouraged to extend hospitality without complaining about it.

Jesus certainly didn’t have to be hospitable to the man He knew was plotting to end His life. And yet, He invited Judas to the same Passover meal as He did the rest of the disciples. He offered Judas the same bread, poured Judas the same wine, and even knelt to wash his feet.

Jesus didn’t have to be hospitable to the disciple who denied even knowing Him as He hung on a cross. And yet, He cooked a fabulous fish and biscuit breakfast for Peter and then told him that love was going to flow through his life like a river.

Hospitality is a potluck. It is a safe place to sleep, or some clean clothes to wear. Hospitality is a kind word or a genuine smile on a hard day, a little spare change to make the journey easier, a warrior prayer. Hospitality is at its best when it’s shared without discrimination, and it shows its muscles most when it is lavished on souls who don’t expect it.

Hospitality is at its best when it’s shared without discrimination, and it shows its muscles most when it is lavished on souls who don’t expect it. @RonneRock

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Trust me, I’m still working on the whole hospitality thing. Laying down my life as a welcome mat for others grinds away the sharp barbs of control and smooths the rough edges of privilege and entitlement. Even the simple act of saying “yes” to a potluck is a lesson in the making, because it means I can’t force the outcome. And for a girl who stares down perfection and anxiety on a regular basis, simply trusting God to indeed work all things together for good (including a dinner filled with folks I don’t know and food I might not like) is a much-needed thing. Here’s to practicing hospitality over and over again.

About Ronne:

Ronne Rock weaves themes of transformative hope into everything she shares on page and stage. An award-winning marketing and communications executive in both the corporate and nonprofit sectors, she offers expertise about creative leadership with faith-based organizations. Ronne is a regular contributor to Orange and QARA, a digital publication that empowers 20-somethings to discover their True North. She now invests her time telling stories that change stories with Orphan Outreach, a ministry dedicated to serving orphans and vulnerable children in developing countries around the world. Ronne also loves to share personal stories about life, love, leadership, and a little #kitchentherapy. Her words are published in Everbloom: Stories of Deeply Rooted and Transformed Lives and the For You Love devotional series. When she’s not working in developing countries, you’ll find Ronne in the Texas Hill Country with her husband, Brad, and rescue mutt, Pearl. Their son and his family live in Arizona, which she has deemed is too far away. You can follow her on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or at her website.

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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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In honor of this month’s theme, I’ll be giving away a copy of Just Open the Door: How One Invitation Can Change a Generation, by Jen Schmidt, to one Scraping Raisins reader! This book shares how to take the next steps in extending hospitality to others. To win:

1. Be sure you’re subscribed to my newsletter

2. Share this post on one of your social media outlets (Twitter, Facebook or Instagram) and tag me (find me as either “Leslie Verner” or “Scraping Raisins”).

3. If you tag friends in your share, I’ll enter you once more for each friend you tag.

I’ll be keeping track on my trusty post-it note by my computer and I’ll notify the winner on October 31st! 😉

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

*this post includes Amazon affiliate links

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Planning for Spontaneous Hospitality

 

By Mrs. Serviette | Instagram: @theserviette

We’ve all heard stories of the spontaneous hospitality practiced many in non-Western countries. Some of us have experienced it when travelling far from home and being welcomed into strangers’ homes. But when those warm people who’ve always opened their doors spontaneously come to the West, they too often don’t return home with stories of spontaneous hospitality. In fact, in our Western world they often experience a “hospitality culture shock” of sorts.

This difference in our hospitality styles can be attributed to our cultural differences — relationship-orientation verses task-orientation. I live in Germany, a very task-oriented nation…which is filling with immigrants from relationship-oriented nations. A North African student recently talked about his experiences in Germany with me. “Most of my friends here are also North African. We can drop in on each other at almost any time. But Germans, no. The Germans are busy and protective of their time.”

“Busy.” “Protective of their time.” Would our neighbours, coworkers and friends describe us in this way?

When I hear comments like these, I wonder: how can we mix more spontaneity into our well-planned Western lives? We appreciate it when someone offers it to us, but it’s hard to make time for it in our own busy lives. As I look at our African, Middle Eastern, or Asian friends here in Germany, I realize: spontaneity is their language of friendship. A true friend will be available to you when you need them. A true friend will let you drop in on or call without making an appointment ahead of time. How can we be true friends to our warm, relationally-oriented friends?

My husband and I are learning a few ways that we can plan to be spontaneous — is that an oxymoron? In our experience…

Spontaneity in cross-cultural hospitality means keeping our evenings relatively unscheduled. We don’t lock ourselves into a Monday night jogging group — we can jog on our own if Monday night is free. We have only one night and one morning a week that are virtually always booked, and a few days a month where we usually attend certain events. But otherwise, we keep a lot of our weeknights relatively open, which allows us to be free on short notice…because nothing says “I’m too busy” like having to book a simple dinner date six weeks ahead of time! In the past year, keeping our evenings relatively open has allowed us to be more spontaneous — to invite a friend who passed an important German exam out for dinner on the same night to celebrate, or to quickly find time for coffee with a friend going through a divorce.

Spontaneity in cross-cultural hospitality means limiting certain friendships. We could hang out with our Christian friends or church groups almost every night of the week if we wanted to. But in order to build deep relationships with people of other religions and cultures, we have had to decide carefully how many church commitments or relationships to take on. We sometimes have to also limit the number of new relationships with cross-cultural friends we pursue, so we can be true, spontaneously-available friends to the foreign friends we already have. When we can, we try to plan events where friends of a variety of backgrounds can spend time with us together.

Spontaneity in cross-cultural hospitality often means setting counter-cultural priorities. One of the main reasons that spontaneous hospitality doesn’t happen much in the West is because we are so busy with our “paid work” that we don’t have time for “unpaid work” like hospitality. It is good to regularly evaluate our standard of living and priorities, or to be willing to be counter-cultural in some of our decisions in regard to money, time and work. I am a freelancer, and sometimes people ask me why I don’t get a regular 9 to 5 job. “Wouldn’t you get extra benefits by working for an established company?” they ask. It’s hard to explain to them all the benefits we gain because my work-from-home schedule keeps me much more flexible.

You can foster spontaneity in hospitality by learning to:

1. hold your plans and schedule loosely,
2. keep a relatively organized, clean-ish home,
3. let people see your home even when it’s not organized and clean-ish,
4. always have something simple on hand that you can feed to drop-in guests,
5. offer guests simple fare or accommodations and not have to put on a show,
6. say “no” to some good things so you can say “yes” to the best things…
7. and much, much more….

Hospitality Tips. #hospitality #tips #crossculturalhospitality

The North African student I mentioned at the beginning of this post mentioned that one German student and his family have given him the gift he cherishes most: their time. That German student keeps in contact with him virtually daily. He invited the North African student to spend time with his family in their home. The North African student, who is a self-described “moderate Muslim” mused, “I don’t know if it’s because of their Christian faith that this German guy and his family take time for me. But they are the only Germans who have been so friendly and generous with their time.”

“Friendly.” “Generous with their time.” Could our foreign neighbours, coworkers and friends describe us in this way? Or are we busy running from task to task? Do they make the connection between our openness and generosity and our faith? Know that spontaneity doesn’t have to be as spontaneous as it looks. You can intentionally plan cross-cultural hospitality into your life by making some counter-cultural decisions. Let’s be known for our love — not our schedules.

Let’s be known for our love — not our schedules. ~Mrs. Serviette

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About Mrs. Serviette:

Mrs. Serviette and her husband, Mr. Serviette, are North Americans living in Germany. They enjoy opening their home to people of all different cultures, backgrounds and religions. Their adventures in hospitality inspired Mrs. Serviette to to start her blog, The Serviette, which encourages people to share their tables in a way that bridges cultural and religious gaps, shows creativity, and serves others. Follow her at her website, Instagram, or Facebook.

 

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The theme for August is “Homelessness, Refugees & the Stranger,” so send me a post for that, too, if you have a good idea! Email me at scrapingraisins @ gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting. You can find submission guidelines here. 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:

*Photo by Kira auf der Heide on Unsplash.

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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….)

 

 

 

***

 

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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Keep Your Eyes Open & Your Easter Napkins Close at Hand {guest post}

By Kelly Simonsen | Instagram

Keep Your Eyes Open

“Cause if you never leave home, never let go
You’ll never make it to the great unknown till you
Keep your eyes open, my love” – NEEDTOBREATHE

The maxi taxi rolls to a stop at this dilapidated bus station
and I am more than ready to leave its sweltering interior.
After riding for ten hours with the windows firmly shut
my lungs beg for fresh air.

Our first smell in this new place
is the customary Eastern European cigarette smoke,
lingering on clothing,
swirling through the air,
orienting us to this unfamiliar world.

A group of gangly teenage boys stare at us,
the four obviously American girls
with their gigantic bags of luggage
and casual, foreign attire.

Our first order of business is locating a bathroom.
Between paying for our pink square of toilet paper
and experiencing the glory of the squatty potty
our bathroom expedition is a prime example
of full-immersion baptism into the culture.

Our guide leads us inside the ramshackle station
and I notice a massive mural on the wall.
He says it’s a remnant of Soviet propaganda,
and my history-loving brain is intrigued by
the mosaic of geometric shapes
delineating the communist view of society.

The interior of the station makes me feel uneasy
but the warmth of our hosts eases my feelings of trepidation.
They greet us with huge smiles and Moldovan chocolate,
giving us an opportunity to practice saying mulțumesc
and accept their radical hospitality.

And Your Easter Napkins Close At Hand

We transition from the station to the home of Magda,
our feisty Romanian host,
who moved to Moldova in pursuit of her calling
to work with marginalized youth.

The entrance to the house is charming
with a canopy of vines,
a freestanding porch swing,
and some scattered toys belonging to the neighbors’ kid.

On our first night,
and in every moment that follows,
Magda is overwhelmingly welcoming!

But I am so nervous.

It’s my second time overseas,
and my first time experiencing a homestay.
Nineteen-year-old me doesn’t know how to relax and be
in a space so radically unfamiliar.

Magda makes spaghetti for us
(to this day the best I’ve ever tasted)
and as we sit down to eat, she passes out napkins bearing the phrase
“Paște Fericit!”

She looks at us
and slyly,
in a manner we would soon recognize as Magda’s humor peeking through,
remarks, “it means
Welcome Girls!”

Our Romanian-speaking American friend bursts out laughing,
explaining that the napkins were leftovers
from the Easter celebration of six weeks prior
and as such, fittingly say,
“Happy Easter!”

The laughter cuts through my anxiety,
and here I sit, four years later,
remembering.

I spent one week with Magda which,
in the scope of meaningful human interaction,
is a mere blip on the radar.

And yet, her kindness,
and spunk,
and gracious welcome of a scared American college student remains with me
and inspires me to go and do likewise.

Maybe I’ll never again see that Chinese international student
who I picked up from the airport and settled into her dorm room.

But maybe,
someday,
years down the road
she’ll write a poem about my welcome.

Or even better,
she’ll invite the visiting scholar from Rwanda
to sit at her dinner table.

Because hospitality is a give-and-receive dance,
transcending our natural boundary lines
with laughter and food and the recognition
that maybe the best thing we could possibly say
in this age of discord is
“Come on in!”

About Kelly:

Kelly Simonsen is a cross-cultural friendship builder, INFJ/Enneagram 4, lover of people, music connoisseur, creative cook, wordsmith, and world traveler with roots in the Pacific Northwest who is learning to live well with chronic pain and exploring how her passions and visions can become realities in her life. However, at the heart of it all, she’s a woman who is learning that the core of her identity is the beloved of God, and that is enough. She writes at learningtoloveagainblog.wordpress.com, and can be found on social media on Instagram @kellysimonsen and on Twitter @kel_michelle_ .

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….)

 

 

 

***

 

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

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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Cape Town Hospitality {guest post} + BOOK GIVEAWAY


By Patrice Gopo | Twitter: @patricegopo

Hidden beneath the clang of random crockery, the rustle of a few books, and the musty scent of cardboard boxes, I find three canvas paintings of cupcakes, maybe 8-inch square.

I draw my finger around the shape of one of the cupcakes and touch the rough edges of some unidentifiable art substance resembling upscale puffy paint or inedible frosting. Feeling the trio of canvases in my hands, I envision where I will place these paintings in my new home. In time, I know the cupcakes will find a place of honor on the blank walls because of my admiration for the artwork, but even more for the artist. Gazing at the bright images reminds me of the type of woman I want to be, the type of wife and mother I hope to become, and the type of home I want to have.

I remember the day in Cape Town as I was leaving Daphne’s house, my daughter snapped in her baby carrier on my chest, my feet ready to make the short walk back to my flat. Beside the entrance to Daphne’s catch-all room that doubled as a sewing room and artist’s haven, I saw the paintings of cupcakes.

“Those are cute,” I said knowing the talents of my hostess.

“Thanks. Do you want them?”

“I can have them?” I stooped to the ground, shifting my daughter’s weight to give me more space to kneel. My fingers traced the shape of one of the cupcakes.

“Yes, I’m trying to find a new home for them. Too many paintings in the house.” Her arms motioned to the walls on both sides of the hallway covered with a mixture of artwork and photographs.

“Yes! I want them.”

My imminent return to America sometimes felt as if I were counting down the days until the start of school. At other moments, I felt like a bright-eyed child counting down the minutes until Christmas morning. In the midst of those confusing emotions, I wanted to cling to this home and this woman who had cared for me as an extension of her own family.

Daphne rescued things others would likely discard. White shirts that stained or yellowed with time were dyed black. The desk that was too old, too big, and too much of a nuisance found new life as end tables. A lonely wife was offered genuine friendship.

She and her husband attended the church my husband brought me to right after our wedding and my move to South Africa. Just when my own well of loneliness threatened to submerge my head and leave me gasping for mercy or a return ticket to America, she invited me to be part of her life.

I would drop in for an occasional visit, and her smile made me think she was hoping I’d stop by for a chat. She answered the door dressed in blacks, whites, and shades of grey. Sometimes color burst forth in a shiny beaded necklace or a pair of orange flats. The linens and cottons flowed on her body like a spring breeze or gentle stream matching the ease of her own words.

“Hello! Are you coming for a cup of tea?” she would say.

To me, her cups of tea reminded me of water in her garden. In much the same way that she coaxed her plants to flourish through water, I flourished during conversations that came with Daphne’s tea. She listened to my stories and dispensed encouragement through her own personal experiences. Her eyes were pregnant with the wisdom that comes from years of life, marriage, and motherhood.

As we talked over tea, her hands were constantly creating: salads for lunch, mosaics out of old china, or sketches in her notebook. As I watched her hands in motion, I felt the urge to revisit creative parts of me long neglected. I imagined Daphne’s childhood was filled with birds with broken wings, necklaces that no longer clasped, and friends with painful family secrets.

A few months after my daughter’s birth, Daphne held my baby in the crook of her arm while I sat across the table watching them. The sticky sweet smell of new baby and the spice of fresh cut flowers gave the room the peaceful aroma of God’s creation. Daphne glanced at me as I enjoyed a rare, hands-free moment and sipped my tea.

“Try to remember what you like to do,” she said. “They grow up.” Her eyes glanced down at my daughter, “And one day you’ll want to remember what you liked to do before they were the only thing you did.”

Maybe it was at the end of that particular visit when I found the cupcake paintings. Or maybe it was months later after another visit whose words may have been different, but the comfort existing in the room was still the same. What happened just prior to securing the three paintings, I can’t recall as it blends into one long, pleasant memory.

Now in my new city of just over a year, I stare at the blank walls of my new house while my hands hold colorful paintings of cupcakes.

I am reminded that Daphne’s paintings challenge me to give of myself and the things I create. This may be a meal I prepare for guests, a home I long to decorate in the calming design of coziness, or a poem I write for my daughter. I am also reminded of my desire to let my love for God translate into care for my family, my friends, and the people who divinely link to my life in ways I didn’t plan.

And, finally, as I glance once more at those paintings and write this final sentence, I am reminded to be kind to myself and cherish my own dreams.

***

About Patrice:

Patrice Gopo is a 2017-2018 North Carolina Arts Council Literature Fellow. She is the author of All the Colors We Will See: Reflections on Barriers, Brokenness, and Finding Our Way (August 2018), an essay collection about race, immigration, and belonging. Please visit patricegopo.com/book to pre-order her book. Facebook: @patricegopowrites  Instagram/Twitter: @patricegopo

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….)

 

 

 

***

 

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

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:

*This post originally appeared at Ungrind and is used with permission.

**Includes Amazon affiliate links.

Cape Town Hospitality {guest post} + BOOK GIVEAWAY Cape Town Hospitality {guest post} + BOOK GIVEAWAY #crossculturalhospitality #invited #scrapingraisins #sacredhospitality #expatlife #expat #holyhospitality #choosewelcome #welcomein#crossculturalhospitality #invited #scrapingraisins #sacredhospitality #expatlife #expat #holyhospitality #choosewelcome #welcomein

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Egyptian Hospitality: Neighbors, Niqabs, and Too Much Food {guest post}

By Alicia Joy White | Instagram

“Hi! We’re your new neighbors!”

“I know.”

Awkward silence.

We leave the elevator and turn in opposite directions down the hallway.

That was our first meeting with our neighbor, Hakim, from across the hall. It taught us two things about him–he spoke English and he wasn’t interested in us.

Several weeks later, we found ourselves knocking at his door. My introverted husband and my introverted self were on a mission to meet our neighbors despite speaking almost no Arabic. I would like that to sound brave, but in reality we were hiding being cookies and our cute one-year-old.

Knees knocking, we prayed no one would answer. After a few seconds, we looked at each other, shrugging. At least we had tried to be neighborly. But as we turned to flee, a large figure clad entirely in black ripped opened the door and dragged us inside by the arms.

We soon learned that this joy-filled woman was Hakim’s wife, Fatima, and now she was gesturing for us to sit in their comfortable, well-worn living room chairs. She shyly attempted some English with us, discovered we weren’t going to get very far, and left. To our dismay, she emerged with Hakim in pajamas, rubbing his eyes grumpily. We quickly attempted an exit, but Fatima began serving tea, forcing Hakim to interpret the conversation.

Fatima stared curiously out at us from behind her niqab (a garment of clothing that covers the face with only the eyes are visible); I could feel her smiling under the black veil. Hakim, however, had been rudely awakened to translate for the naive foreigners who he had not been interested in meeting. Not exactly what we had been expecting, but you never know what you’ll get when you start knocking on doors.

This awkward encounter was the start of a beautiful friendship with our neighbors. We soon learned to love Hakim’s gruff outward demeanor that belied a warm heart full of adoration for our son. And Fatima would come to define hospitality for us in the way she dumped love and Egyptian food on us. We learned that Fatima had only recently chosen to wear the niqab and how Hakim disagreed with her decision. We learned about Fatima’s fear of foreigners (us, initially), and of many websites teaching Islamic apologetics. They rescued us from locking ourselves out precisely three times, once while I was clad in an above-the-knees nightgown, seven months pregnant (with twins). Funny now; incredibly not funny then.

Yet in the year and a half that we lived next to them, they never came to our home for a meal or sat in our living room and had tea with us. The majority of our memories were in their home, even though I tried to host them. Fatima came to our home many times, sometimes to exchange language practice, many more times to bring us food, but she never stayed and talked for hours as I did in her home. She never seemed comfortable in our home.

Maybe it was her discomfort outside of her own home, but I know that I had something to do with it. There were times she knocked on the door with plates overflowing with food that I just stood in the doorway, thanked her, and darted back inside before my son was awakened by the commotion. Other times I didn’t answer because I wanted to nap or just wanted to be alone. I think she knew I was in there though. There aren’t many secrets when you live across the hall from an Egyptian woman who stays at home all day. She knows everything.

As I reflected on her reluctance to accept an invitation to our home I learned something about myself–I prefer hospitality on my own terms. I like hosting because I control the scene. I like the idea of being dropped in on, but I don’t want it to interrupt my anticipated schedule (as loose of a term as that is these days). Rather than being hospitable at any time, I am building my life around “me time.”

God is teaching me about another level of hospitality that affects all of my relationships.

God is teaching me about another level of hospitality that affects all of my relationships.

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 I’m learning that hospitality doesn’t only consist of inviting people over to your home, but at its core consists of intentional presence with whoever you’re with, whenever you happen to be with them. Vietnamese peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh says, “The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence.”

How often am I really present?

Whether it’s my three-year-old who woke up from his nap early, a woman selling tissues on the street when I’m in a hurry, or a friend dropping by unannounced, these are moments I sometimes wish away, missing an opportunity to be present with someone special. In chasing moments of alone time, I wish away the people and relationships surrounding those moments.

So I’m asking myself a new question: How is God calling me to open my door to anyone who knocks like Fatima opened hers to me?

About Alicia:

A Coloradan by birth, Alicia currently lives in Cairo, Egypt with her husband, and three boys three and under. Always a nurse at heart, her impossible 24/7 job these days is keeping her boys alive while trying to learn Arabic, engage with her community, and listen to the stories of the refugees, Egyptians, and expats she is surrounded with. Follow her on Instagram @aliciaw8290.

***

 

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

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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