Hospitality Lessons from a Preschooler

It was a typical evening coming home with my son. It was a day that we were headed home just the two of us, my husband working a late shift.  As we approached home, the initial request came, "I want to go see Alex." Alex is the high school freshman girl who lives across the street from us and with whom my son is enamored. "Okay," I say, "let's go home, put our things down, and we can go say hi for a few minutes while dinner cooks in the oven."  He agreed, and he very cooperatively waited while I got out the fish sticks, sweet potato fries tossed them on a cookie sheet and into the oven.  I set a timer on my phone for a couple minutes shy of the oven, and off we went across the street.

We spent a lovely 12 minutes in our neighbors' home, he on the sofa chatting and watching some TV with Alex, me by the door chatting with her mom.  When my timer went off and I declared it time to go home for dinner, he was ready. But we exchanged that "we should do dinner sometime" thing that you do. You know that - you mean it, sort of.  But when I got home, suddenly I was called to account.

"I want Alex to come over for dinner."

"Yes, sweetheart, I said we'd do that sometime soon."

"NO. I want Alex and her family to come over to dinner right NOW!"

I began thinking how unreasonable his request is. The house is a mess; I haven't vacuumed up all the cat hair. Do they have allergies? I only made enough fish sticks and fries for two, maybe with preschool sized leftovers. Nate isn't home. I don't know what their dinner plans are. I don't know what they eat. 

I offer a perfectly reasonable alternative. "How about Friday?" Yes, Friday is perfect. Several days to get ourselves together. Nate will be home. No choir rehearsal or other things on the evening agenda.  Perfectly reasonable.

"But I want them to come over for dinner TONIGHT."

Now, I know there was some typical preschool impulsiveness at play here. But I was suddenly struck by the insistence for radical hospitality that he demonstrated. I heard Gospel in my son's frustrated words.

I actually stopped in my tracks and considered for a moment: Isn't that what we're called to - relationship, in the here and now, immediate?  Isn't that part of what Jesus was trying to tell Martha when she complained about her sister Mary not helping to get ready for the guests?  Come. Sit. Be with people. Yes, it is important to have food. Yes, it would be great if the floor was cleaner. But don't let it get in the way of the relationship that is so much more important. Why should I worry so about the food? Did not the loaves and fishes multiply to feed everyone the two times in the Gospel that the crowd needed feeding? When we are together in Christ, there is enough to go around and all are fed. Fed not only by the food, but by the gathering and the sharing of the meal.

Jesus showed us how to invite anyone, everyone to our table; tax collectors, fishermen, the poor, the rich, the sick, the healthy, sinners, and saints. Jesus showed us how to sit with them; to be with them. It is amazing how presence alone is healing. And, indeed, Jesus invites all into his presence and to the table each Sunday morning.

So, why should a little cat hair in the carpet and a handful of fish sticks stop me from inviting over people I already know a bit? What's stopping me from showing a tiny fraction of the radical hospitality that I've been taught?

Flowers from our neighbors.

I failed that night. I failed as an example of Christ to my son, and I failed my call. I heard it, but I ignored it and did the "reasonable" thing. I invited them over for dinner on Friday. My son was thrilled - he told everyone he saw on Friday about our dinner plans. Our neighbors came, and we had a lovely time. Just the other day, Alex's mom came over to deliver flowers in thanks for dinner. I'm glad we had them over. I'm glad we were all there. It was a blessing. And I hope I made up for not following when first called.

I'm blessed that I'm forgiven, and that I have a chance to try again anew.

So, what's your hospitality challenge? Do you have a story of failure or success of your own? What tiny fraction of a difference could you add to your faith journey? Add your thoughts below!


(cross-posted to StMartinsGander.blogspot.com)

Vegetable Horror Stories

Or: Dinner with my 3 and a half-year-old

If you've ever had or known a toddler, pre-schooler, or really any young child, you'll know how difficult it can be to get them to eat anything resembling a healthy meal.  So, any number of tricks, schemes, cajoling, sweet talking, negotiation, and playing may be necessary to get the job done.  In our house, we employ the full spectrum depending on the situation.

Recently it all seems to be play. My son has been very interested in family units recently. Most of his play is about Mommys, Daddys, brothers, sisters, and babies. There also seems to be a lot of pretending people are dead and then coming back to life.

When applied to vegetables at the dinner table, I was finding meal time to be rather morbid and actually a bit horrific.  Take the following for example:

As he eats a carrot: "Oh no, Mommy carrot! The shark ate my skin!" And now I'm imagining the peeling process entirely differently.

Then, there was the broccoli family. He kept having me play the mommy broccoli.  The daddy broccoli was telling the mommy broccoli that the baby broccoli had been eaten by a fire man.  So, I made mommy broccoli cry.

Him: "It's alright Mommy broccoli, we're going to get another baby!"

Me: "Oh really, from where?"

Him: "The other trees (another term we use for broccoli) are giving us a baby."

Me: "Oh! My dear sweet baby!"

He then takes this small bit of broccoli from me and eats it.

Him: "Oh no Mommy broccoli! The fire man ate the baby again!"

This process went on for a bit including missing babies that turn up eaten instead of just being eaten outright.  That daddy broccoli totally sucks at child care and supervision. But then, his head was repeatedly dunked in ketchup and sucked clean again. That has to mess with you, right?

They say that the way kids play is just the way that they process life.  That generally it is harmless. I know that the Mommys and Daddys and everyone tends to come back to life when he plays. There's a bit of that "pretend I'm dead Mommy" to which I pretend to cry and then he jumps up and says "I'm alive again!" Or "I cut off your head!" "Okay, tape, tape, tape, (pretending he's wrapping it in tape) I fixed it again! You're okay!" These examples prove that it will all be okay again. I heard an NPR story about this (boys play) on the radio this morning, but darned if I can find it online...

So, if it weren't for the fact that he also plays Phillies (today I was Carlos Ruiz and he was Cliff Lee) and Camden Riversharks and other less horrific imaginings, I'd be worried.  As it is, he has changed the way I look at my vegetables forever.

I mean, after meals like the above, I guess I'm glad he doesn't want to play with the fried zucchini.