She sat across the table from me, eyes slightly misty. Looking around from face to face, she softly says words that sink in deep.
“I feel at home. It’s the first time I’ve felt like this for a very… very long time.”
She’s a young mom; a neighbor of ours for a few months. Two darling children, a husband with a job that moves them around a lot. A rough growing up.
She knows and loves God.
Our house is rather a mess–children running around and the remains of crafts on the table. Dishes in the sink, shoes strewn about.
But it doesn’t matter. She feels at home.
That is what hospitality is really about. It isn’t about fancy dishes or perfectly food or a gorgeous, spotless house. It’s about love. About sitting around the table, talking and laughing and crying. About… being at home.