Posts tagged "brave hospitality"

The Kindness of Strangers

It was a day of inconveniences, the kind where you wonder if you'll be able to get it all done. Since I was driving out of town the next day, taking my car to the shop for its past due oil change was top priority. The wait was hours long without an appointment (what? they take appointments?!), and I could've kicked myself for not bringing work along, or better yet, a book from...

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Sunlight, Shadows, and a Supper Club

When I was younger, I was sure that loneliness was both inevitable and temporary. It was simply the price one paid for moving to a faraway city or taking a new job or joining a different church. Loneliness was a straightforward ailment easily cured in time. Now that I am older, I understand loneliness not as a sickness but a shadow. The sun shines brightly here in the land of...

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Invisible Hospitality And An End-of-Summer Cake

Ten years ago, she confessed to me that hospitality wasn’t for her. The tasks that brought me life brought her only unbearable stress. She sloughed off a burden of expectation that wasn’t hers to bear. She said no to hosting friends for dinner and said yes to so many other good things. * Today, that same friend is mom to a houseful of kids. They arrived through birth and adoption...

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When Honesty is Our Invitation

I answer the door in sweatpants and a raggedy old t-shirt. I have three-day unshowered hair scooped up and pulled into a haphazard bun, greasy strands escaping the restraints of my elastic rubber band. I don’t have to swipe lipgloss on or part my lips in a smile. I don’t have to make small talk, I just unhinge the lock and swing the door open without hiding behind it. I...

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The Joy Of Cookies

It was early 2003 when the idea came to me. My son was a tiny seed growing in my womb. Sitting in the living room of our rented farmhouse, curled up in my grandmother's old chair, the one she handed down to me, I considered my future: the one in the workplace. “What should I do, Lord?” I prayed. I loved my career in property management. But with the anticipation...

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Comfort Food For Those Who Mourn

Today is gray and chilly, and raindrops are sliding down the window slowly, like tears. It is the last hour before dinner, and I am scrambling to write this post for Grace Table. My husband is traveling for work this week, and I left the sitter with the kids and a big pot of slowly thawing soup. I had most of the day to work, a rare thing, but I...

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Gather Together {Plus A Turquoise Table Giveaway}

People are longing for a place to belong--a place to be welcome at the table and the turquoise table provides a simple place to love those God has placed right in front of us. ~Kristin Schell The motto for Lowe's Home Improvement store is, "Let's build something together". We love this for so many reasons, and in their own way, each of the writers here at GraceTable is building something in...

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One Year Later (Plus A Gift For You)

I didn't grow up eating brussels sprouts. Despite their cuteness (hello, tiny little cabbage heads), I was afraid to eat them. I assumed they tasted nasty, (since that's the way I most often had heard them described) and steered clear based on an apparent general consensus. But one day, my friend Kristin encouraged me to try her recipe for brussels, and then see if I still felt they were "nasty". ...

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Bringing All Of Your Story To The Table

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it...

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Unexpected Hospitality

She was small in stature; smaller than me, standing no more than about five feet. With warmth that radiated from her heart-center, she embraced me and welcomed me across the threshold of her humble home—a 10 x 10 slum clearance building in the city of Chennai, South India. We called her, “Ammi.” (Ah-me) Ammi means mother in Urdu. My husband, Chris and I had become friends with Ammi’s sons, Mansoor,...

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