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How to Simplify Christmas Shopping

For a person like myself who basically despises spending money or buying excess stuff, Christmas is a struggle. My favorite Christmases to date are still the ones I spent with very little in a tiny cinderblock apartment in China.

Last year I published an ethical gift list and thought nothing of it, but this year, I have some questions:

What is the definition of “ethical” when it comes to ethical shopping and gifts? (Does giving 1% of your profit to an anti-sex trafficking organization qualify you for this label?)

Does overspending because it provides jobs for farmers in Uganda qualify as “doing good”?

Do some “ethical” companies manipulate our desire to feel good about ourselves, perpetuate the White Savior Complex, and lead to excessive spending?

For example, here are some of the slogans I’ve run across in my research:

“shop with meaning”

“shop to end poverty”

“shop with intention and share in the joy”

“The jewelry she makes changes the world. What can your jewelry do?”

“Look good, feel good, do good, be good, give good, get good.”

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice style to make a difference.”

Pictures of white women kissing “native” women …

But here’s my conclusion in spite of still having questions: unless I want to announce that I’m no longer giving gifts to friends and family, I will be spending my money somewhere this season. Because of that, I prefer my money go to companies that will aid in improving the livelihood of someone else.

With this in mind, these are five ways I plan to simplify Christmas this year:

1. I’m only buying from ethical or green companies unless there’s absolutely no other way.

2. We’re setting a low number of gifts for each of our family (our kids know this … we don’t do birthday gifts from friends at parties, either).

3. I’m directing grandparents and family members to mostly write checks rather than send stuff for the kids (that way we can buy museum memberships that will last an entire year).

4. I’m buying all my gifts before Thanksgiving. (Ha! I figure it will put the pressure on if I announce that online …) This will reduce stress (in theory) and prevent me from making impulse buys at the last minute.

5. I’m buying everything online.

On Wednesday, I’m publishing my ethical gift list for this year. This time around, I will be sharing some companies that aren’t usually in the spotlight. I wanted to focus on companies that work directly with one or a few different countries instead of contracting with hundreds of artisans around the world. Think of them as the underdogs or “mom and pop” ethical companies doing good, but quieter, work around the globe. A few of them have offered discount codes for Scraping Raisins readers, so be sure and take a look!

What are some ways you simplify the consumerism aspect of Christmas?

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Three Reasons to Shop Ethically … and Four Reasons Not To {guest post}

By Beth Watkins |  Twitter: @iambethwatkins

Three Reasons to Shop Ethically…

1. It takes profits away from companies who hurt people.

The fashion industry is one of the biggest agents of slavery across the globe. Child labor is alive and well. Rivers downstream from the factories that dye our jeans and t-shirts are poisoned, leading to failing crops, lost farms, and whole villages of people who are incredibly sick. Garment workers for beloved brands are routinely physically and sexually abused. Lives and communities are being devastated by low wages, pollution, and cruelty and oppression by those who hold more power than they do. Divestment from these practices hurts the profits these companies make on the literal backs of others. And because there are alternatives I can mostly afford, there’s no need to encourage or reward companies doing evil.

2. You’re not complicit in a system dependent on the marginalization of people in order to function.

It’s a harrowing truth that, even with the best of intentions, all of us are complicit in modern-day slavery. Even if we could all afford fair-trade-everything all the time, we’re still complicit in slavery somewhere along the line (you can have a look at your slavery footprint here). Getting out as far as possible is good for our souls – if I want to be a person who loves my neighbors, how can I support a system that hurts them? May I not be one who sells the needy for a pair of sandals (Amos 2:6).

3. Ethical shopping supports people doing the right thing.

Most of the clothes and shoes we buy rely on highly skilled labor. I’m amazed by what artisans, makers, and craftsmen are capable of, and it’s good to support their work directly, or by companies who treat them like imago dei. The choice to pay employees a living wage and using materials that don’t harm makers or the environment are expensive choices to make. Businesses don’t make these choices for fun , but from principle. Responsibility, as well as from consumer demand. Those who make the hard choice deserve positive reinforcement – and yes, financial reward to cover the cost of the work.

…and Four Reasons Not To

With that said, consuming ethically isn’t as simple or straightforward as it seems. In fact, there are some reasons why maybe you shouldn’t shop responsibly.

1. Things can get real elitist, real fast.

Buying ethically is great – for those who can afford to do it. The price of single items from ethical brands can easily run into the hundreds of dollars. Ethical fashion becomes the domain of a white, middle-class, Instagram-influencer culture very quickly, with garments privileging those with small waistlines and large wallets. Sure – a conscious lifestyle can seem like the way everyone should be living, but if it’s out of reach for those who make $20,000 a year, is it truly just?

2. Turns out some of it isn’t even that ethical at all.

Many companies touting themselves as green or ethical are guilty of greenwashing – posturing themselves as ethical as a marketing strategy instead of a commitment to any actual positive good or change. Given the costs of ethical production,  many big companies prefer to make small, nominal steps – and still reap the financial rewards from customers who have been led to believe they’re making better choices.

While it’s important to pay a living wage to garment makers, how ethical is a company if the fabrics and materials they used aren’t sourced ethically? When “ethical” is a marketing strategy and not a commitment, the results can be almost as bad as non-ethical options.

3. Ethical consumerism makes us worse people.

Studies show humans are permissive creatures who run on trade-offs. Thanks to the “halo effect,” we are more likely to cheat and steal after purchasing something we perceive as “ethical.” We also end up looking down on others – Hannah of Life+Style+Justice says: “There are certainly feelings of superiority that can come with making good choices, or what I perceive as the best choices, that’s quite prideful and ugly.”

Those are sins of commission, but there are also sins of omission. Buying things is easy; justice is hard. Instead of the common good capturing our imaginations and taking root in our actions, “ethical” can become a buzzword. The danger with ethical consumption is it becomes another trendy way to make us feel better about ourselves without commitment to our communities.

4. We can’t buy our way to a better world.

Recently I saw a friend on Instagram sharing pictures of accessories fairly made in developing countries, with the caption “ending poverty never looked so beautiful!” This approach is problematic for lots of reasons, not least because it takes all the complexities of global poverty and inequality, and turns it into something individuals can remedy simply by buying cute things.

People are poor as a result of huge, systemic issues and long histories of colonization, powerful countries exploiting other countries, with long-lasting impacts on global inequality today. While I agree with the Starfish Story approach to assistance, our efforts should be focused on ending systemic evils and rapacious policies, as well as on reparations for historic injustice.

To only focus on our own consumption as a fix is not only short-sighted, but also unfair to those we seek to help. It ignores our true agency – as the author of Myth of the Ethical Shopper puts it, “our real leverage is with our policies, not our purchases.” We can’t buy our way to a better world.

We can’t buy our way to a better world. @iambethwatkins

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While ethical consumption is presented as an alternative to faceless corporate capitalism, it still relies on the same logic – desire more, consume more, it will make you happy and the world better. It’s a better alternative in our current paradigm – but it’s still in the same paradigm.

It would do us well to understand some of the complexity, history, (and our own country’s responsibility) in global inequality before we claim we can change the world just by buying a beaded necklace.

About Beth:

Beth WatkinsBeth Watkins spent the last 6 years working in North and Sub-Saharan Africa with street children, refugees, and other vulnerable populations. She is currently settling back in the US with her immigrant husband and writes about living toward the kingdom of God and flailing awkwardly into neighbor-love at her website where her free e-book “For the Moments I Feel Faint: Reflections on Fear & Showing Up” is available.

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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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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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On Self-Care, Friendship, and Chocolate Cheesecake {guest post}

By April Yamasaki | Twitter: @SacredPauses

One of my friends lives in another town about an hour’s drive away, and at least once a year, she makes the trek out on a Sunday morning to hear me preach. After worship, we usually have a long, leisurely lunch followed by a not-so-leisurely walk in a nearby park so we can burn off some calories before we settle down somewhere else for dessert.

The last time she came for a visit, we talked about her recent trip to Tanzania and my stay-cation, her volunteer work and my church ministry, how we’re both managing to find time for family, friends, and everything else even when the days seem to go by so fast.

I savor our friendship and visits together. I want to hear about her latest project researching her family’s genealogy and about the summer coffee party she planned with a few friends. I want to groan over the bad news of illness in her family and celebrate the successes. That’s what friends are for, to share our lives together and to care for one another

Spending time with friends can also be an important part of self-care.

I once thought of self-care as caring only for myself. Like taking an afternoon nap, or buying myself a new scarf, or snuggling on the sofa to read a novel. And certainly when life gets too busy and filled with multiple people and multiple expectations, withdrawing for some much needed alone time can be a precious form of self-care.

But more and more I’m discovering that definition of self-care is overly narrow. As human beings, we are created for relationship—relationship with God and relationship with one another. So to be fully alive and fully human, we need relationships–and I believe that extends to a healthy understanding of self-care too.

Instead of narrowly defining self-care as caring only for myself, I now realize that sometimes self-care takes place in relationship with other people. Friendship can be a two-way street, where spending time with a friend and caring for her can also contribute powerfully to my own self-care.

Friendship can be a two-way street, where spending time with a friend and caring for her can also contribute powerfully to my own self-care. @SacredPauses

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My friend and I ended our last visit by splitting a piece of chocolate cheesecake and two dollops of whipping cream, with coffee for her and tea for me. I can’t remember the last time I had such a decadent dessert, so it was a real treat. “Ah, self-care,” I thought to myself.  But it wasn’t only the cheesecake. That afternoon, our conversation was just as much a part of my self-care.

So here’s to the deep satisfaction of long-time friendships and the joy of making new ones, to family members that we care for and who care for us, to the constant care of God who is always with us and never fails—all these relationships and more can help to broaden us and broaden our understanding of self-care.

As L.R. Knost writes, “Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean me first, it means me too.” So I was glad to share that afternoon conversation and chocolate cheesecake, to care for my friend and care for myself at the same time.

About April:

April Yamasaki serves as the lead pastor of a mid-size, multi-staff congregation in Abbotsford, British Columbia, Canada. She writes blogs and books, including the newly released Four Gifts: Seeking Self-Care for Heart, Soul, Mind, and Strength (Herald Press, 2018). Find out more from her websites: Writing and Other Acts of Faith (aprilyamasaki.com) and When You Work for the Church: the good, the bad, and the ugly, and how we can all do better (WhenYouWorkfortheChurch.com). Connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.

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Check out April’s New Book!

Four Gifts: Seeking Self-care for Heart, Soul, Mind, and Strength. From Amazon:

“Is self-care different from being selfish or self-indulgent? Is it the same as caring for your soul? And what does self-care look like in light of following Jesus, who called his followers to deny themselves?

In Four Gifts, pastor and author April Yamasaki addresses these and other questions about self-care. Drawing on the ancient scriptural command to love God with our heart, soul, mind, and strength, Yamasaki helps readers think about the spiritual dimensions of attending to your own needs, setting priorities, and finding true rest in a fast-paced world. She weaves together personal stories, biblical and theological insights, questions for reflection, and practical ideas for self-care. Four Gifts helps readers sustain their spirits and balance competing demands. Feeling overwhelmed by the pace and stress of daily life? Find respite from superficial definitions of self-care and move toward deeper engagement with God.”

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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.

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