invite them in

I have been challenged recently to invite people into my home even when it doesn't seem easy or convenient.

There are a number of reasons that I, personally, feel reluctant to invite people into my home. Most of them boil down to insecurities about how clean the bathroom is (or is not) and how much energy it will take to get my house into a presentable state. Some of the reasons are related to food, considering that I am not an outstanding cook and since having three kids often find my cupboards bare. I simply can not get to the grocery store between naps and school drop-off. It also takes time and motivation to be involved in preparation for a guest, neither of which I have in excess. Then there is the juggling of the ability to enjoy the guest's company while remaining responsible for all of my regular charges, namely those 6 and under.

We have had some last minute opportunities to open up our home, and our barn, and our space to others. There is always an internal struggle I face with feelings of inadequacy for the task of having people over. I don't feel gifted as a hostess. I don't want to spend my preparation time as a stress case. I don't want to work harder than I am already working in order to be responsible for more people. I feel pressure for those invited to have a good time. These inadequacies conflict with the conviction that God wants our family to share the space that He has given us.

An invitation is a gift to someone. God calls us to give gifts out our own abundance. In my case, my abundance is a warm home to live in and a wide open outdoor space for children to run freely in. God calls me to share what I have been given, not to focus on what I wish I had to offer but do not. What I sometimes want to give is a the gift of a perfectly clean house with pinterest-perfect food and no chaos running around me, but that is not my abundance.

Inviting someone in, means inviting them into the mess. I have to be okay with crumbs on the floor and dustballs under the furniture and that sticky spot on the couch that I keep meaning to wipe. Because as long as there are young children living in my house, there will also be toys scattered indiscriminately. As long as there are healthy people eating and being fed, there will also be dirty dishes. As long as there are little people with creative minds, there will also be "collections" of strange objects in odd places. And as long as we live on a farm, there will be piles of dirt by the front door. I will never be able to invite someone into the perfection of my space, because that reality does not exist.

This isn't to say that I don't spend the 20 minutes prior to someone's arrival running around like a mad woman throwing toys into baskets and wiping down countertops and other surfaces. I have some company priorities, like a cleared kitchen table at which guests can sit, and a no-clothes-on-the-floor policy because no one likes to step on someone else's dirty underwear. I attempt to keep my house at a general standard of cleanliness on a day to day (okay, week to week) basis, but there is always more to be done.

In those last minute panic attacks, it helps me to remember what an old friend once told me about her own mother who turned into a stress case shouting orders at everyone before company arrived. She told me that all of her siblings hated having guests over. They felt afraid of the person their mother turned into and associated horror in their home with the arrival of company. In the stress of last minute attempts at straightening I must remember that the lessons I teach my children before guests arrive are far more important than the appearance of my home. I am training them up to be the next generation of hosts and hostesses. My heart in those final 20 minutes matters most.

I have another friend with four children who lives in a tiny house. The first time she invited me over she told me, "Come! Just know that it will be messy!" Of course it was messy. She has four small kids and lives in a small house and her husband works all day. There are piles of laundry and toys everywhere. Something exploded in her microwave a long time ago and she has never had a moment to scrub it. If she does have that moment, I am sure scrubbing the microwave is way down on the priority list. I am blessed every time I visit her. She is present with me. My kids have a blast and I don't worry about what kind of mischief they are getting into. We have deep conversation in the midst of the chaos. It restores my soul and I am thankful for the gift that she gives.

There is a vulnerability that comes as a natural partner to inviting someone into the imperfection. Perhaps when other see my messy living room they feel less need for pretension themselves. If we are truth-tellers in words, then why not be truth-tellers in appearance?

When I think about it, I don't actually get invited into someone else's home all that often. Maybe there are a lot of reasons. Maybe life is quite busy. Maybe others live in cramped spaces. Maybe it is because I always have three children in tow. I sure hope it isn't because women are afraid of how I might judge their space. What I really think though, is that people don't do a lot of inviting.

We have to change our view of invitations. They are less about me, and more about the great gift that is given to someone else - the gift of showing interest and concern in another human being.

An invitation is a simple way of saying, "Let's be friends! I will accept your imperfections if you will accept mine. Let's be imperfect together."

And just maybe, the world will be a more loving, less judging place because of it.