Listing Photo, 2003
We moved into our home eight years ago this weekend.
During that time we’ve had a dozen people live with us and hundreds come through our doors for parties, play dates, counseling, Bible study, and whatnot.*
Guests have stayed with us from as close as Portland to as far away as Australia.
I’m thankful for God’s provision for our home. We afforded this house on one income, made it through a few layoffs, and fed a lot of people with our fishes and loaves.
If it were up to me and Bryan, I think we’d prefer to live at the end of a deserted mountain road or at the top of a secluded condo building. We’re introverted by nature, and some might even say Bryan is a hermit. But Jesus called us into community and hospitality, and His influence in the lives of the people around us is unmistakeable.
Hard conversations around the dinner table.
But instead of living in seclusion, our home is where people gather.
Neighbors drop in, friends swing by, and kids swarm. There’s always an extra plate or two at dinner, and I’ve taken to stocking up on snacks. God transformed my heart and my budget to live hospitably in this home.
One of many game nights.
As we consider moving sometime in the future, I wrestle. I feel it’s what we are to do, yet our roots seem too deep here to survive a replant. But I recognize that hospitality is a state of mind, a way of life. It’s not a house.
No matter where we are, God will bless our home.
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*The “whatnot” may or may not include the time lightening struck as a handful of lusty housewives watched the Justin Timberlake HBO concert special on my giant HD tv.
