It was dusk in balmy California; warm enough that three little girls were huddled on the edge of our dead-end road. We were sitting in the quiet across from the almond orchard, peering anxiously through the gathering darkness. Each of us were hoping to be the first one to see the lights of the cars coming towards our little house.
You see . . . Mom had made boysenberry pie. My favorite. And the house smelled all wonderful and happy and sooo delicious. The buttery scent of the crust mixed with the tangy, yet sweet berry smell that spread beyond the borders of the kitchen. But the company had to come before we could eat that special boysenberry pie.
And yet that wasn’t all. The company also had to first do their singing around Dad and Mom’s dining room table with the old songbooks you almost can’t find anymore today. Most likely the melody of “Home of the Soul” would soon be reverberating through our cozy home. How they could make the rafters ring with those old tunes! You could even hear them coming out of the windows and open doors as we played outside in the warm summer breeze.
That is how I remember hospitality. Because this is how my mother taught it to me. She didn’t say much at all in words . . . but the happiness with which she made those scrumptious boysenberry pies and the willing spirit in which she served them was all that needed to be said.
The three little girls on the edge of the road knew without a doubt what hospitality looked like.
It looked like love in those berry pies. It looked like open arms that wrapped around a young girl who was staying with us for a while . . the one whose own mama was gone for the present. It looked like opening the doors often to a gentleman who had no family around to turn to . . . and then letting him eat straight from the jello bowl if he wanted a snack before church. It was staying up till midnight with guests who needed someone to talk with. It was going out of your comfort zone to engage a newcomer in conversation when you’d rather look the other way.
It looked like something Jesus would do.
Even today, each one of us get a warm hug and peck on the cheek when we enter their home. If love makes homes with expandable walls, then I grew up in one that stretched a mile wide.
It was more than food. It was love in action.
Yes, we knew it took work – but not until we were women with homes of our own did we realize how much work actually went into it. Yes, we knew it took a willing spirit – but we didn’t realize the sacrifices that went along with that willing spirit and servant’s heart. Now we are older, now we know.
And now we appreciate those sacrifices Mama made so long ago . . . so that we three girls might be able to see what a true servant’s heart looked like.
Opening your home to others is more than feeding them . . .
it requires you opening your heart as well, and loving them.
Just this past week, I had my menu planned for Sunday company when Mama called me up. “How did I make that garlic bread we had when they were here last?” she wanted to know. You see, Mama was also having company on Sunday and she began to tell me of her menu. Her lasagnas were already in the freezer . . . and wouldn’t you know that I was just getting ready to put my own lasagnas in the freezer for Sunday lunch!
Over the course of the call and text, we realized that although 2,000 miles separated us . . . not much else did. We were both serving lasagna, garlic bread, a salad of some kind, and fresh-baked pies! It was incredible. My kids’ mouths hung open as I recited to them these corresponding menus for the same day separated by many miles. My husband remarked with a grin, “I can separate the daughter from the mama by 2,000 miles – but not the brains!”
Truthfully, as I remember all my mother taught me . . . I don’t mind one bit trying to follow in her footsteps, even if I miss the mark sometimes.
Maybe, just maybe . . . my own daughter will say the same in 30 years.
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glendora says
love this! True Hospitality is truly a talent… one in which I have so much to learn… especially when it’s last minute and it’s someone we’re not “expecting”! thanks for writing!
Kendra says
Yes, it’s the unexpected that can throw us a curve ball! 😉
carrie walker says
Ahhhh, this is so beautifully said! I was on the receiving end of your parents hospitality and they are extremely good memories! And like you, I didn’t appreciate the gift my own parents
gave me by being hospitable when I was under their roof, until many years later.
Kendra says
Somehow age helps us appreciate so much more, doesn’t it? Yes, so many good memories in California with you all!
Betty Walker says
This brings back so many memories of being in your home and enjoying your parents hospitality. My mother also was a wonderful cook and opened her doors to company most every Sunday. Thanks so much for this. We love your family.
Kendra says
You guys will always be special to us, Betty!! We have so many good memories of times with you and Henry. 🙂
Cindy Anderson says
Love this post! Hope you had a wonderful time with your guests!
Kendra says
We absolutely did!
Grandma G says
I love your post 🙂 There’s something about having folks into your home that meeting at a restaurant can’t equal.
Kendra says
Yes, ma’am!! We miss coming over to Grandpa’s for Schwan’s ice cream . . . 😉