I miss this one lady who lives in a land with no snakes. She was one amazing woman. She lives on I assure you but we are both women of the moment. Somehow email, Facebook, and even phones can't hold our words well enough to allow us to connect. If we saw each other today we could talk for hours and pray for more hours. I count her among one of my dearest friends. That means she is on the of five fingers on my right hand. Part of the handful. She constantly uses the word "choice." Anything from spectacularly answered prayer to MacDonald's icecream on a hot day the word "choice" held depth. So I am going to use this word for my Saturdays.
I love where I live. I love that my kids are thriving, I love the adventure, I love the way that I get to communicate in another language. I love the fact that at the end of the day I am so sloggishly tired I can barely say goodnight to my husband. But sometimes the heat, the pain, the suffering of those around me, the injustice, oh the injustice, it drags me down and my sinful self cries out with complaint. So here is my weekly rant. Four choice things, and one thing I loathe.
1. Guests. We had guests in our home this past week and they were divine. They were totally old school. Helped with clearing the table without being asked. Offered to read to the kids. Disappeared when there were meltdowns. Never buried their noses in phones. Had lovely advice and asked caring questions. Came visiting with us. Gave a hospitality gift. Lovely really. I am afraid the generation coming up behind us is being raised in a culture where people don't come over to stay, because.... well because they aren't invited. With that sadness aside that means there is a whole generation not learning how to be good house guests. It is a skill that has to be learned. My sister comes by it naturally, I don't. But my mom taught me to help clear the table without being asked, strip the beds and try to read the unspoken needs with grace and thankfulness for the hospitality extended.
2. Learning from Mary Magdelene. Yes, there is a real woman out there with this name. She is petite, beautiful and vibrant. On a side note she also makes the meanest Italian sausage by HAND that I have ever tasted. She does not read my blog. She doesn't know it exists but she has from the two times I have stayed in her home made a lasting impression. She is the consummate hostess. Seriously. When we stayed she had a basket of lovely snacky things in a glass bowl on the chest a drawers. It was exquisite. And to my great delight this week I got to copy her. Of course my bed is a slab of wood with an one inch foam, my chest a drawers is the little locked cupboard that houses our bucket for the AC water run off, and my curtains don't herald from France, but I had a little welcome basket. (oh and the view out of the window of our Master Bedroom is a cement wall not a green field) I must confess that my basket was a plastic bowl but I was stinking proud of my hospitality. Just to be a little like Mary Magdeline (hmmm do you think the third vowel is I or E)?
3. Ice water, hand held fans, and dates in the sweaty new night of breaking fasts.
4. Temar Boggs' heroic rescue.
5. One thing I loathed this week was sadly my sticky clothes and smell. Then I loathed myself for being so shallow.
I love where I live. I love that my kids are thriving, I love the adventure, I love the way that I get to communicate in another language. I love the fact that at the end of the day I am so sloggishly tired I can barely say goodnight to my husband. But sometimes the heat, the pain, the suffering of those around me, the injustice, oh the injustice, it drags me down and my sinful self cries out with complaint. So here is my weekly rant. Four choice things, and one thing I loathe.
1. Guests. We had guests in our home this past week and they were divine. They were totally old school. Helped with clearing the table without being asked. Offered to read to the kids. Disappeared when there were meltdowns. Never buried their noses in phones. Had lovely advice and asked caring questions. Came visiting with us. Gave a hospitality gift. Lovely really. I am afraid the generation coming up behind us is being raised in a culture where people don't come over to stay, because.... well because they aren't invited. With that sadness aside that means there is a whole generation not learning how to be good house guests. It is a skill that has to be learned. My sister comes by it naturally, I don't. But my mom taught me to help clear the table without being asked, strip the beds and try to read the unspoken needs with grace and thankfulness for the hospitality extended.
2. Learning from Mary Magdelene. Yes, there is a real woman out there with this name. She is petite, beautiful and vibrant. On a side note she also makes the meanest Italian sausage by HAND that I have ever tasted. She does not read my blog. She doesn't know it exists but she has from the two times I have stayed in her home made a lasting impression. She is the consummate hostess. Seriously. When we stayed she had a basket of lovely snacky things in a glass bowl on the chest a drawers. It was exquisite. And to my great delight this week I got to copy her. Of course my bed is a slab of wood with an one inch foam, my chest a drawers is the little locked cupboard that houses our bucket for the AC water run off, and my curtains don't herald from France, but I had a little welcome basket. (oh and the view out of the window of our Master Bedroom is a cement wall not a green field) I must confess that my basket was a plastic bowl but I was stinking proud of my hospitality. Just to be a little like Mary Magdeline (hmmm do you think the third vowel is I or E)?
3. Ice water, hand held fans, and dates in the sweaty new night of breaking fasts.
4. Temar Boggs' heroic rescue.
5. One thing I loathed this week was sadly my sticky clothes and smell. Then I loathed myself for being so shallow.
Sounds like you all did great together. Seems like Old School is the way to go with guests eh? L
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