homesick and hospitality

Homesick and hospitality are two words tumbling around my mind quite frequently these days.  I’ve thought about homesickness and I’ve wondered if it’s just the adolescent term for nostalgia. I miss home. I miss the old pattern of inviting people into my parents’ house, where the food is always good (by my estimation) and, while I was technically the host, my parents were largely responsible for the welcoming atmosphere. Even though this does not conclude my thoughts on homesickness, it is a rather seamless segue into hospitality.

A book I’ve been reading recently defines hospitality as providing a place or home for strangers, and the reality is that I want to be the stranger welcomed in. I am nearly crippled by the fear that, if I were to invite strangers in, my home and heart will be rejected. My heart is already home to so many aches (both homegrown and borrowed), the anticipated rejection is lodged in my throat like a stone - incapable of going up or down.

So you see, these two concepts circle each other like cat and dog around my train of thought, the ache for safe familiarity and the fear of being an unwelcomed stranger or an undesirable place for strangers to rest their feet. Jesus, you promised all things would be possible in your strength. I think the problem I’m running into is that my strength seems more accessible. Abba God, I need you. Ruah, spirit of God, move from my heart and mind through my mouth and arms in the strength I only possess through you. Use me to strengthen the people around me. I love you. Your will be done forever and ever.

summer of weddings

while I still haven’t gotten our official wedding pictures back, I thought I would take some time to post a few snapshots from the several weddings I attended this 2020.

In early June, I made the trip to Indiana to be a part of my pal, Hailey’s wedding.



My brother got married mid-June. Gracie, as usual, filled in as my wedding date.





At my own wedding, our preacher ran a little late, so I had to wait in the truck till he arrived!

welcome home

 We (Tanner and I) arrived at the Missionary Training Center in Missouri relatively early last Saturday evening.  To our astonishment, our new home is part of a fourplex - complete with a guest bedroom, one and a half baths, and our very own washer and dryer. After two days of unpacking, and a few more days of settling in, I find myself stumbling around in search of my "sea legs".

Of course, we're nowhere near the sea, but my knees are wobbly and my head is spinning.  This isn't the kind of place where people like me get to sit back and observe the social waters before plunging in headfirst. And this isn't the time when I am allowed to put up a convincing veneer in public, while crumbling emotionally and physically in private.  In private, I'm learning to navigate the winding river of marriage with Tanner.

This year has been a slew of best-laid plans set aside to make way for God's best. And yet, somehow, I still attempt to convince myself that every new struggle or situation needs to be bullied through my way.  Bullying through didn't provide funds for our first year of training.  Bullying through didn't plan our perfect wedding. Bullying through didn't get us moved into our new home.  Bullying through does, however, lead to more than a couple tears, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings.

And so we set out on yet another chapter of God patiently reminding his boneheaded child to hold his hand and trust.