Developing a posture of welcome
And allowing ourselves to be known
Mom is coming today. Dad is coming, too, of course—but the picture that looms in my imagination is my petite mother, coffee mug cradled in one hand, the other nimbly opening cabinets, observant eyes ranging over my kitchen (the heart of any home). I have all the urges and instincts that come with expecting the arrival of the woman who reared me, who trained me to keep house. Did I dust the top bookshelf? Are the hand towels fresh?
I could balk at the expectation of her expectations, putting up defenses to protect my heart, perceiving her eye, her posture towards me, as critical. The instinct is there to curl up and protect my heart. What if she sees something I don’t want her to see?
The alternative: I could welcome the woman who knows me better than any other woman in the world to know me a little better in this season of my life. I can open the door for us to share life together in a way that reinforces the bond and, in its reflection of the relational God who made us, turns outward to create and beautify the world around us. I can choose generosity and joy over fear and self-protection.
Mom, when you read this: I welcome you.
I welcome you to know me in my space here (writing) and in the physical space of our home. Come, run those intelligent fingers across countertops and cabinetry; I will perceive it as a caress. Open doors and gaze upon my feeble efforts to bring order to my little corner of the world; I am eager to hear your hints and ideas. Speak your thoughts—use your experience and gifts—into the nourishing meals we make and the nurture of growing daughters. I humbly invite you in that I might continue to grow in the art of making a home, and my heart, a hospitable space.
Though I think I might just clean the oven, first.
Dear reader: where can you allow yourself to be known today, this week? What would it take? What healing do you need, in the One who made your heart, before you could be generous with it?
