Growing up a preacher’s kid was an adventure! We always had a houseful of people. Some out of town preachers and their families would stay for a month at a time. My mom was always cooking for a multitude.
We didn’t mind giving up our rooms. We would grab some blankets and make a pallet on the floor wherever there was a spot.
My dad would even bring home “just released” prisoners. I don’t recommend that, but to us it was normal. We were raised to show hospitality to everyone and anyone.
When I grew older and moved to a big city, my mom would call me and say, “We’re bringing a youth group to town, and they need a place to stay.”
I’d just say, “How many?” and we’d make it happen, even though I lived in a one-bedroom apartment.
I remember waking up one morning to go to the kitchen and stepping over lines of bodies lying on my living room floor.
That sense of hospitality was instilled in us at a young age.
As an adult, it’s sometimes gotten me into a little trouble because I want to help everyone. I’ve had to learn when it’s being hospitable and when it’s being taken advantage of. I’ll have to say, it took me years to find a happy medium.
Opening yourself to help and serve others is very gratifying. It seems these days we are all so concerned with what we have going on—we forget we have a lot to give.
Now, I don’t suggest picking up hitch hikers off the highway or bringing home prisoners, but slow down from your busy life and find out how good it feels to help someone.
I know I’m your favorite, but please read my sibling’s comments, so they don’t break out in tears.