Let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus…
(Hebrews 12:1-2)
My post last week, I’ll admit, was quite heavy. My writing tends to be more introspective in general, and I don’t think that’s all bad.
One day, a case worker took Freddy to a gray house with a wooden door. Freddy was scared. He did not smile. Who would he see behind the door? Would they have crackers? Would there be a soft bed for him to sleep in with his gray blanket with the yellow edge?
In response to the recent series on hospitality, writing friend Hilda Barnhart sent me this piece which she wrote 25 years ago, about one week
I’ve been mulling over the exhaustion I experience after serving people, or just after caring for a high-octane toddler. Is that what hospitality is? Is that what service is? Is that what raising a child is? Giving until your throat hurts and your back aches? Facing deep weariness, but then remembering that you are greatly privileged to be part of something splendid and un-reproducible?
The big hurdles were the missing host, an unusually fussy toddler, and a deep theological conversation turning intense.
But I thought, why not invite Jane for supper too? I could just run over there right before supper and pick her up, if she was there. If Marnell was home just a little early, I could leave Anina with him and be even more efficient.
