I Thought It Was About Hospitality

Ten years ago, I wrote a Facebook post about a prayer I remembered from childhood. It was one I said many times while eating dinner at a friend's house.

“Come Lord Jesus, be our guest. And let these gifts to us be blessed. And make us ever mindful of the needs of others. Amen.”

At the time, I thought I was writing about hospitality. About opening our homes and remembering that even the most ordinary invitations can leave a lasting impression and I still believe that. But reading it again ten years later, I think I missed something. Or maybe I didn't miss it. Maybe I'm just seeing it differently now. 

Funny how ten years of living can do that. Along with a few more wrinkles and an increasingly complicated relationship with high waisted jeans.

It's that last line that stays with me. And make us ever mindful of the needs of others.

Mindful. Not just welcoming. Not just generous. Not just making sure there's enough food and that someone remembered to clean the bathroom before people arrived, but actually paying attention.

I've written quite a bit about my questions and struggles surrounding "the church." Those questions haven't changed my love for Jesus or my devotion to Him. My faith is a choice. A deliberate one. One I continue to make, even when I'm wrestling with the institutions and people who claim to represent it.

Maybe that's part of why this little prayer feels different to me today, because being mindful of someone else's needs requires something of us.

Presence. Curiosity. A willingness to look beyond what's happening in our own heads and wonder what's happening in someone else's. I wonder how often I actually do that.

How many times have I been so focused on getting dinner ready, cleaning up, or making sure everything looks just right when someone comes into my home that I've lost sight of the very people I invited in?

I love having people in my home. I love a full table, good conversation, laughter, and the kind of evening where nobody seems particularly interested in leaving and I'm realizing that hospitality and presence aren't necessarily the same thing.

You can open your door without really opening yourself to someone and you can make someone feel seen without ever inviting them into your house.

There's another piece to this that I've been thinking about, though. Presence also requires a certain amount of vulnerability and vulnerability is not exactly where I thrive.

I can host a dinner, organize an event, keep a conversation going, and make sure everyone has what they need. Give me a task, a problem to solve, or a room full of people to entertain, and I'm pretty comfortable.

But sitting in a moment without managing it? Allowing someone to see what's really going on with me? Being willing to hear something I might not know how to respond to? That's a little less comfortable.

I think sometimes it's easier to be the person taking care of everyone else than to be the person who allows herself to be cared for. Is that's something I've confused with presence over the years? Being available, being helpful, being the one who handles things. All good things, but not necessarily the same as being fully present, because presence isn't just about noticing someone else. Sometimes it means allowing yourself to be noticed, too.

I'm not sure I love that realization. Which probably tells me something.

Think about a time when someone made you feel truly seen. Not just acknowledged or included, but really seen. When someone listened without looking at their phone, without trying to fix whatever you were sharing, without already thinking about what they were going to say next. A time when you felt cared for. When someone heard what you were saying, or, more importantly, noticed what you weren't saying.

I can think of moments like that in my own life and what's interesting is that I don't necessarily remember what someone said. I remember how I felt when I was with them.

There's something pretty powerful about knowing someone is genuinely interested in what's happening in your world.  I wonder how often we give that same feeling to others?

Ten years ago, I was thinking about the impact we have on people who enter our homes for everyday reasons. Today, I'm thinking about the impact we have on people who enter our lives in everyday moments. The conversations we don't rush. The questions we ask because we actually want to know the answers. The things we notice when we're paying attention.

I'm realizing those conversations don't have to be life-changing. Maybe they're simply life-affirming.

Not every conversation needs to uncover someone's deepest struggle or lead to some profound revelation. Sometimes it's just someone remembering something you told them last week. Asking about something that matters to you. Noticing that you seem a little quieter than usual or sitting together and talking about absolutely nothing of consequence, but leaving the conversation feeling a little more connected than when you arrived.

I wonder if we sometimes put too much pressure on meaningful connection, as though it has to be deep or emotional to count.

Maybe feeling seen doesn't always mean sharing the hardest parts of ourselves. Sometimes it just means knowing someone enjoys who we are, is interested in what we think, and is glad we're there and we could share those hardest parts.

I don't think I've mastered any of this. In fact, I'm fairly certain I've spent a good portion of my life being physically present while mentally reorganizing a closet, planning dinner, or composing an email. I've certainly asked "How are you?" a thousand times without really stopping to consider whether I was prepared for an answer other than "Good! How are you?"

What might happen if, instead of the automatic "How are you?" we asked something like "How's your heart?" Or “What is making you laugh?” Not because every conversation needs to become a therapy session. Frankly, I don't think any of us have the emotional bandwidth for that at the grocery store, but because a slightly different question might make room for a slightly more different answer and maybe the answer is simply, "I'm really good today." That's worth hearing, too.

I also recognize that asking a more thoughtful question means being willing to hear the answer. Even if it's longer than expected. Even if it's uncomfortable. Even if we can't do a single thing to fix it. For someone who tends to feel most comfortable when she's doing, organizing, or solving something, that can be its own kind of vulnerability. 

I like that a prayer I haven't said in decades found its way back to me. I like that the words haven't changed, but what I hear in them has.

Maybe that's one of the gifts of getting older. We get to revisit things we thought we understood and discover there's still something there for us.

Ten years later, I'm still thinking about hospitality. I'm just wondering if the most meaningful thing we offer someone isn't always a seat at our table. Could it simply be offering our undivided attention?

I've been thinking about the people in my life who have made me feel truly seen. The ones who asked a question and actually waited for the answer. Who made me feel like, for those few minutes, there was nowhere else they needed to be? I’ve also been wondering how often I've been that person for someone else or how often I've allowed someone else to be that person for me?

That second question might actually be the harder one.

Maybe that's what I'm hearing in that childhood prayer now. Not just an invitation to open my home, but a reminder of what it means to be present with the people who enter it and the people I encounter everywhere else. Not every interaction needs to change someone's life. Not every conversation needs to be profound. Not every moment of connection requires us to share our deepest thoughts.

Sometimes it's enough to remind someone that they matter. That they're noticed. That their presence makes a difference. Possibly it's also about allowing ourselves to receive that same kindness.

Ten years ago, I thought this prayer was about making room for people in my home. Today, I think it might be about making room for people in my life.

Including the parts of ourselves we'd sometimes rather keep busy enough not to notice.

Keep Running,
Sarah

#RunningAhrens #TheGiftOfPresence #BeingSeen #MeaningfulConnections #IntentionalLiving #FaithAndLife #EverydayKindness #TheArtOfListening #Hospitality #BeingHumanKind