"Not in My Backyard"

I've seen this phrase tossed around a bit regarding stances on refugees, and I don't understand why people are so offended by it. I wholeheartedly agree. Have people in my backyard? No. Absolutely not. That would be utterly ridiculous.

It's cold out there. What if you're a family with little kids? There are no lights out there to turn on in case they get scared of the dark. Not to mention that there isn't much room in three squares of cement, and cement is no place for you to sleep.

Come into my home.

Come into my home and stay with us. Sleep on our bed, use our kitchen, use our towels, use whatever you need, whatever you'd like. What do you need? If we don't have it, we'll get it. Teach me how to cook your favorite foods, and don't worry about paying for the groceries. Teach me about who you are, what you love, what you're passionate about, what makes you laugh. Teach me about your country, and please have patience and grace for me in my ignorance. Let me laugh with you; let me cry with you. (Fair warning, I cry pretty easily.) Please let us share what we have with you. It's not much, but it would be our great privilege to share it with you.

If you ask me if I've believed all of the vitriolic rhetoric surrounding refugees, I'll tell you honestly that I did at first; that I still fight the shadows of doubts and fears and prejudices. I will ask for your forgiveness with tears in my eyes, because I am truly sorry for allowing fear to be my first response. But I want to learn how to be driven by love and compassion. I'll tell you that I was scared to open my home to people I don't know. But I don't want my fear to be bigger than my love. I'll tell you that, at my core, I battle with extreme selfishness, greed, and fear, and I need to kill those impulses daily. I'll tell you that I still have so much to learn about love, and that opening my home is a chance to learn more about sacrificial love. I want to learn how to love in practical, specific ways...not simply in abstract ideals.

If you ask me then why I've opened my home and my life to you even though I was afraid, I will gladly tell you about the One who owns everything I have and everything I am. The One who gave me everything I have so I could share it with you. The One who gently teaches me that my love should be bigger than my fear. The One who promises that no matter what happens on this earth, in this nation, in this family, in this home, to the people I love more than words can express...He holds the eternal future. The One who loves you, and who weeps with you. He's too big for my words to express, and I hope my actions do more justice when my words fail.

If you don't want to ask, if you just need to be listened to, if you just need a quiet, safe space, come into my home. But please, not in my backyard. It's cold out there.

Life Lessons from Trudy: Hospitality

Ryan and I had the immense pleasure of hosting some good friends from Illinois as they passed through Laramie on their way to climb Devils Tower. We had six road-weary and stoke-heavy climbers in our apartment, and I couldn't have been happier about it. 

Chess, vinyl, and 007 on N64. Life is very good.

I love hosting people. I love having people over, making food, and planning adventures. Heck, I even love cleaning the apartment before people get there. (Seriously. Ask Ryan.) I love creating a space for people to rest in. It's a way in which I can care for people, and I love to love people. More and more, I find that I like to host people because I feel like Ryan and I have been given so much, and I want to give back.

I have always been tongue-in-cheek when I've said that one of my mother's primary spiritual gifts is hospitality. But now that I have my own space within which to create a home, I'm not so sure it's as flippant of a statement as I initially thought. All growing up I remember Trudy effortlessly, gracefully, and warmly inviting people into home. It was our home, but it was also home for anyone and everyone who needed a home. Sure, there was often a lot of work involved in preparing a place for people, but she found joy in that as simply another part of caring for people. It wasn't a chore for her to stay up late the night before Thanksgiving to make sure that there was enough food for all of the college students who couldn't travel home for the holiday; it was a lot of work, but it was never a chore. Trudy cared for people so much that it was a privilege for her to get to serve them, no matter the cost to herself. And she never, ever made others feel the weight of the work to prepare for their arrival. She never pressured people to enjoy themselves at the risk of offending her. She simply created a place for people, and invited them in to be themselves.

At it's heart, hospitality isn't about having the right pillows or towels or decor. It's not about having the house sparkling clean and neatly organized. It's not about showing off Suzie Homemaker skills. Hospitality is about caring for people. It's a privilege and an act of worship, because I truly believe that God is glorified when we love and care for others.

So, Trudy...thank you for setting that Godly example growing up. Thank you for the way you taught me to love people. Thank you for teaching me to share what I have, even when it doesn't feel like much. Thank you for teaching me how to delight in the details of serving people. Thank you for showing me that serving people is a privilege and a joy. Thank you for teaching me that hospitality is more about what people feel than what they see. Thank you for the way you love people as an act of worship and thanksgiving to God. I am thankful for you, and I am doing my best to do what you taught me!