The Friday Five - Truth, Beauty and Goodness for your weekend
Rethinking hospitality; an exercise granting permission to dream; a little art practice with a big impact; why hymns matter; my favorite poem and a craft that spreads delight
On Fridays, I send out five things from the week that are worth sharing. They will come from things God is teaching me, things I’m reading, writing, observing, or thinking about. I hope they bring encouragement, fuel for thought or a nice dose of truth, beauty, and goodness to your life.
1. Rethinking Hospitality: How one woman’s dirty bra changed my perspective on hospitality
Years ago for a brief period, I sold Stella and Dot jewelry. I would enter the homes of women, they’d tell me where to set up, and I’d begin thoughtfully arranging my inventory and marketing materials, getting ready for the show. Usually, the hostess would be finishing up with last minute hostess “duties”: arranging the snacks, putting the toys out of sight, lighting the candle in the powder room. One night, while I was arranging the necklaces and bracelets, the hostess of this show, Amy, whom I didn’t know at all prior to that evening (she had attended a friend’s Stella and Dot show in another state and located me through the website to host locally) stood next to me, helping me arrange. We chatted about jewelry, her friends who were coming, and a new TV show she’d just started watching that she was loving. Her help with arranging the jewelry may have been her preshow window shopping but I noticed that she wasn’t bustling around straightening pillows or picking up dog toys. She was talking with me about things we had in common. I did notice, however, that she had plenty of dog toys out. And kid toys. Plenty. And she had dirty dishes in the sink. There were jackets strewn across the banister of her stairs, and shoes laden with grass clippings sprinkling the floor were piled around the kitchen’s back door, very close to where I was setting up our display. All her snacks were low fuss: the chip bag had been opened and just laid out, with a tub of dip not dumped into a pretty bowl, but still in its store-bought tub. Cupcakes still in the clear plastic packaging, with the lid thrown to the side. She did, however, have several bottles of “the good wine” and sparkly, clean wine glasses sitting out.
That party, I clearly remember, was one of the most successful shows I had ever booked. It was successful because she had a ton of friends show up, many of them purchased, I booked a few more shows from it, and everyone had a good time. The air was filled with authentic laughter, not pretention. During the show, I needed to excuse myself to use the bathroom. The powder room was occupied so she directed me upstairs to the master bathroom. I walked through her bedroom where I tried not to pay attention, regardless I did still notice the bed wasn’t made and the large pile of half-folded, half-piled up laundry taking over an oversized chair in the corner; ‘that looks familiar’, I remember thinking. The bathroom was on par with everything else I’d seen that night; the counter tops were loaded with products, clutter everywhere, very personal dirty clothes on the floor. To honor this breath-of-fresh-air hostess who welcomed me into her personal spaces to use the bathroom, I tried not to pay attention to the cleanliness of the toilet or sink but I did stop to consider that my stepping over her dirty bra lying on the bathroom floor didn’t make me think any less of her. It was quite the opposite in fact; her bra, and all of the other signs of authenticity I’d witnessed to that point, made me think more of her! But mostly, I couldn’t stop thinking about how different that entire experience had been from all the other times I’d done this.
When the show was over, after the last guest hugged Amy and said her goodbyes, she helped me pack up my supplies. She asked if I had a chance to try any of the wine she’d left out for her guests. I had not. I was usually busy ‘selling’ and filling out jewelry order forms all night so partaking in the festivities was off the table for me. She apologized and said, “Oh I am so sorry I didn’t pour you a glass. Please forgive me.” She then ripped off a section of paper towel, loosely wrapped me up a cupcake, ‘for the road’, hugged my neck and thanked me and walked out to my car with me, carrying one of my heavy bags filled with marketing booklets. That almost never happened. Usually, hostesses are busy cleaning up when I’m heading out the door.
I spent my drive home reflecting on what I had just encountered and taking mental notes. This experience had made me rethink the terms of hospitality.
It has been many years since that night, and I am still affected by Amy’s hospitality. She wasn’t concerned about the condition of her home. She didn’t even apologize ONE TIME about the state of anything, her only apology was not pouring me a glass of wine before it was all gone.
I know hospitality can be setting out the beautiful server ware for the thoughtfully planned feast. It can be dusting the white powdery toilet paper dust from the metal bars on the mounted toilet paper holder so your guests can have a sparkling clean experience in your home. It can be perfectly placed blankets just in case your guest encounters a chill.
But it can also be inviting friends to your home just the way it is because that is what a ‘real’ home looks and feels like and by not setting the bar high with perfect canapes and karate-chopped pillows, it’s an invitation for your friends to feel like they can do that, too. I think the reason I booked more shows from Amy’s than any other show, is because she made it look attainable with her realness. Amy cared that I was taken care of, not what other people thought of her living room. She sought to connect with me upon my arrival by helping set up and finding something in common with me to chat about. That made me feel instantly comfortable. By contrast, it was definitely a little awkward during that first thirty minutes when I was setting up in the home of another woman I barely knew. And come to think of it, one of the reasons was because that hostess was so concerned about the state of her home, saying things like, “I’m so sorry my space is so messy” this and “please excuse the dirty floors” that, while I assured her: “it’s OK, yours is spotless compared to mine.” All I could see out of place was maybe a single fingerprint smudge on the fridge handle. Amy had the gift of hospitality in an unexpected, yet exciting and attainable, authentic, and unapologetic kind of way.
I listened to the Jeanne Oliver Podcast recently and she was speaking with her guest, Duane Pitman, about hospitality. Duane summed it up best by saying hospitality means saying, “I see you.” She said, “when people leave, I want them to feel better about themselves, not better about me or my home.”
In a culture that is becoming more and more lonely and busy and less connected with others ‘in person’, our hospitality muscles are being exercised less often. I have chatted with many friends who desire to be hospitable. I fall in this category. I think we recognize how important it is to extend these invitations to connect and love others well through gathering but come up with every reason why we can’t make it happen. 1 Peter 4:9 says, “Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.” I know for me, there are times when we do have people coming over, and the stress I put on myself to ‘get it all perfect’ is usually accompanied with a lot of grumbling. A grumbling heart is not a great place with which to serve others. What would Amy do? She wouldn’t worry about the dog hair and dirty dishes. She would be authentic and welcome me to a space where I can be authentic, too.
How practical is this? I mean, can we really leave our home dirty and cluttered and invite strangers or friends in? Only you can answer that. But maybe there is a level of ‘acceptable chaos’ you are willing to tolerate, and you strive to keep the main level of your home in that zone, for hospitality’s sake. That’s what I’ve been working on lately. I also once heard a tip somewhere (Martha Stewart? Sally Clarkson?) to keep a few pounds of frozen ground beef and a tub of vanilla ice cream in your freezer and spaghetti noodles (make sure you include some gluten free ones, too) and spaghetti sauce in your pantry to have an easy meal that you could throw together if unexpected guests stop in. Whether you can welcome friends into your ‘real’ home or not, perhaps the more important question becomes: Are you willing to put aside things that don’t really matter so you can focus on the things that do: loving others well? For some, that may be letting go of the clean floors, for others perhaps its saying yes to a friend who wants to hang out instead of your Tuesday night tv show. Maybe instead of your regular morning workout, you invite that lady from your bible study class to come over for coffee. Maybe it’s putting aside a fear of being rejected if you ask a neighbor to join your family for dinner. And if your family looks anything like ours does in this season of life, you know that may not go well…as much as we teach manners and good behavior at the table, there likely will be a burp, a disagreement, or a piece of steak fat that gets spat out suddenly…but so what if it does? That’s authentic and consider it an ice breaker and an invitation for your guests to feel like they can be themselves, too.
Authenticity is absolutely important in being hospitable; and so is generosity. When we need an example of an authentic, generous model, I know the perfect one. Ashley Hales, in her book, Finding Holy in the Suburbs, beautifully describes Jesus’s hospitality:
“Like a king and host, he prepares a table in the wilderness. Like a priest, he offers the pure unspotted lamb on behalf of the people of God for forgiveness of sins and restitution with God. Like a host, he rains down provision in the desert, nearness when we are lonely, welcome when we do not deserve it. But he is also the offering, the food the host offers to undeserving guests.”
It’s unlikely we’d categorize our guests as undeserving, but, what if we took a cue from Ashley’s lovely insights on Jesus here? What if our offering is not our homes, food spread, prepared playlist, or cornhole boards…it’s us…loving and serving others well, generously? Will they think less of us if they leave our home feeling loved and seen? The answer is no.
“Remember to welcome strangers into your homes. Some people have done this and have welcomed angels without knowing it.” – Hebrews 13:2-4
Questions for reflection:
1. What excuses keep you from being authentically and generously hospitable? Are you willing to address them to welcome more opportunities to be hospitable?
2. What blessings are you missing out on from not welcoming others in and being hospitable? Are any that you identified something that has been missing in your life?
3. Can you recall a time when you felt comfortable to be your authentic self because someone modeled that to you first?
4. Have you ever judged someone by the mess of their home? Was their messy home a distraction from their character or how they treated you while you were their guest?
5. Spend a few moments reflecting on or looking up some of the ways Jesus showed authentic and generous hospitality to students, friends, family, strangers and outcasts. Which of these moments resonates with you the most? Can you follow in his footsteps?
2. The ‘I am’ poem
When is the last time you delighted in thinking of all that you delight in? I love an ‘I am’ poem because it gives us permission and space to think of these things, with the bonus end goal of creating a piece of art – a poem about ourselves. And perhaps you won’t care to share this with any audience, but it’s still a fun and important exercise to do for yourself. Why is it important? Because our stories are important. And in order to tell our story, we need to know ourselves, including all of the little quirky, unique, incredibly wonderful things about us that God, the author of our story, planted in us long ago.
In your busy weekend, I hereby give you permission to reflect and dream for a bit. (Isn’t it crazy that sometimes we actually need that permission?) What brings you joy? Think about all five senses and try to include something that addresses each one. Reminisce for a moment, and think about what you enjoyed as a child. Do you still love that, or could this be a reminder to seek it out again and see if it still brings that kind of joy to you now? Have fun with this. It can be as long or as short as you’d like. Share it with a friend, or better yet, ask them to write one and you two share, hand write it and decorate it in your journal (I have an older copy like this), give a copy to your grandchildren so they’ll learn these nuances about you. If you plan to share it, don’t feel shy about it. You are fearfully and wonderfully made – every bit of you! And, if you are in a season of struggling with coming up with things you love, and this activity feels stressful, you can always come back to it. But I pray God will reveal these to you because He delights in your delight. These are the nuances I love to learn about my friends. If you’re up for sharing, feel free to send me a copy or tag me if you post yours someplace. Here is mine.
I am…
a song in my head
the smell of coffee and books in a large bookstore
a brand new journal
a beach sunset
the purple-ish blue of a hydrangea sepal
all the books on my beside table
sending up prayers during worship
the swirling rainbow in an iridescent bubble
the four-leaf clover found pressed in an old book
full of hope
collecting quotes
mini painted cardboard portraits inspired by Rothko
the sparkles in a cement sidewalk
55 windows open on my laptop
The neighbor who wants to know you
a karaoke song
a word collector
a piece of pastel green seaglass with smooth sides and rough edges
the purpley-pink inside a conch shell
a miniature wildflower and weed bouquet that my son picks for me
the bowl of fresh fruit in the summer
Birkenstocks
the smell of pencil shavings
the crow’s caw in fall
paint on my jeans and fingers
finding things to love about complete strangers
berries and crème fraiche
on my knees in my closet in prayer
frizzy, curled up humidity hair after the rain
seeking deeper meaning
iridescent beetles
the beach and the mountains
a poem not written
the weed grasses growing in between the cracks in the pavement
a note jotted down for an idea for later
fighting for wonder
shepherding others
following Jesus
twinkly lights strung across the yard
every woman
Spirit-led
messy thoughts
a grace-giver
the muddied paint color on my watercolor palate
finding objects in the clouds
waking up early at the beach and drinking coffee on the front porch, breathing in the salty air
fresh, crisp clean white sheets
Gymnopèdie no. 1
our gem and mineral collection
sketching in my notebook
writing my truth
the beauty in a decaying flower
laying out a feast at the holidays
the softest dog’s ear
not sleeping
unused stickers
a seashell collection
thinking of Heaven
picture books and read alouds
a jar full of washi tapes
the blue flash of the eastern bluebird swiping across the yard
throwing baseball with my sons
dreaming with my husband
healing
observing nature on a slow hike
Note: I sent this to my husband to read and he said, “I think this is wonderful and I kind of want to do this exercise myself.” Introspection and self-reflection is a universal exercise that is healthy (and can be fun) for all of us!
3. Mini Mixed Media Collages
I haven’t had a lot of time to be present on Instagram much lately, something I feel zero guilt about (it has taken a long time to feel 100% comfortable with my relationship with Instagram and I’ll share that journey with you soon) but I did recently post about a little art practice that I’d like to share with you because it has brought so much joy.
As a creative working through healing from trauma and living with PTSD, I have found my art practice to be ever evolving. Mostly, I wind up doing anything that feels good. I consider myself a painter, but lately when I show up to the canvas, I’m not feeling it. So, I’m not going to force anything…I’m trying to be gentle on myself in all areas of life while healing and that includes my art practice. But creativity never goes away and so I am enjoying the process of finding other ways to be creative.
I discovered these mini art collages from an artist on Instagram, Janice McDonald. She so graciously shares her work and invites others to give it a try, too. Probably because it brings her joy and she wants others to have the opportunity to partake, if they so choose, also.
You can view the remainder that I posted on my Instagram here.
The supplies
A mini moleskin 12 month daily calendar, 3.5” x 5.5”
A glue stick
A small plastic hand squeegee (or an old credit or gift card)
Scraps of magazine paper, tissue paper, or any thin paper in patters, colors, designs you find interesting, ripped in various shapes.
I add my spin to it, and include things like cut out words from magazines, stamps, stickers, sketches done in pen, mark making in paint, crayon, or colored pencil, and quotes or poems…basically anything that you like that adds to the composition.
Creating the art
Here’s the fun part. Now, take a few minutes to arrange various collage scraps to make a composition on your page. Add glue to the underside of the paper completely (I use a scrap piece of paper nearby as a base so glue won’t get on my table) and press to the paper. Repeat until you’re finished with your collage pieces. Once you have all of your pieces glued down, use the squeegee as a burnisher to press over everything to help set it more permanently, ensuring all of those little corners and nooks get glued down. Now, feel free to add to it with sketches, stickers, stamps or mark making.
It’s a simple practice, takes very little time, yet reaps huge benefits because once you’ve completed a mini collage, you’ve completed an entire artwork and that feels like an accomplishment. You can mark that as a win! I bought my 365 day moleskin calendar well into the year, after I had discovered Janice, and work on several collages in a day to get caught up. Some days I have a hard time walking away because it’s so fun and completing little mini works of art is very therapeutic. I also absolutely adore my little black book of collages and take it with me to admire, read the quotes and share with others.
Back in 2018, I participated in the 100 day project challenge and started 100 days of mixed media art compositions (one of these years, I plan on actually finishing this challenge but haven’t yet). Pictured below is an example of one I did. When I ran across Janice’s lovely journal, it reminded me of those days and I knew it would be the perfect remedy for needing a space to create that wouldn’t take up too much time or mental requirements while I’m on my healing journey.
What about you? If you haven’t felt like showing up to your usual creative practice, I’d love to hear how you’re exercising your creative muscles.
4. Why should we care about hymns?
My papaw was a pastor, his wife, my mamaw, was too, and although they didn’t pastor the church I attended as a child, they certainly influenced me in many ways, including cultivating my love of hymns. I can picture my papaw now, standing, a handful of family members down from me all on the same pew, two hands holding that burgundy hardbound hymnal book. But his eyes rarely looked down at that book. He knew those lyrics like they were written on his heart. He was a tall man, with black, pomade- slicked back hair, and his voice was profound. Big man, big heart, big love for Jesus, big voice. As a small observant girl, taking in the world and processing everything I saw, I’d say my papaw was larger than life. And thus, his influence on me was the same. He modeled authentic, appropriate God-honoring worship and his love for those songs was so inspiring, I wanted to know those words even before I could read them, just like him.
When I homeschooled my children, I sought resources to incorporate hymns into our homeschool because I wanted my kids to have that same love for hymns that I had as a child. That’s when I discovered Happy Hymnody, a website ran by pastor’s wife and homeschooling mom of three, April Brover. Here is a description from her website, “Happy Hymnody is currently a growing community of families who are committed to raising up the next generation to savor & serve Christ, the Rescuer of our souls. We do this through sowing the seed of the Gospel into their hearts through family worship, teaching sound doctrine and theology, memorizing theologically solid hymns, psalms and spiritual songs, and creating rich Christ-centered traditions that point to our Sovereign King.”
We have used resources from Happy Hymnody for years now, and even though I am not homeschooling currently, we continue to use her resources and study a hymn each month. I don’t always go in order; sometimes I look for a specific hymn from a past year or month and use that one, but I love that she’s got everything I need, including printable lyrics/music sheets and, put together nicely for me.
A favorite memory I have of my son Luke is when he was riding his bike up and down a steep hill singing a hymn we were learning that month at the top of his lungs. He’d labor his way to the top of the hill, and as he descended, with an exuberant and joyful, melodious shout, I’d hear “All creatures of our God and King, lift up your voice and with us sing, Alleluia! Alleluia!” He was singing from a place of abundance, the place from where true worship should be sang…a heart that desires to worship at the top of our lungs because we are so filled with abundant joy in the Lord.
I found a wonderful interview April did about why we should care about hymns. I love love love her response to this question. You can read the interview here and learn more about Happy Hymnody. You can follow her on Instagram here.
5. The unassuming clover, a faithful warm-weather friend
Find a grassy field here in the southeast that has been preserved from chemical treatment and you’re likely to encounter an abundant supply of the unassuming clover flower, one of my favorites. Now, teach yourself how to make a clover crown and you’ll become an instant delight-spreader! People of all ages love a clover crown and instantly feel beautiful, powerful or just plain special.
Clover is in bloom now until September so you have plenty of time to learn how to make a crown and grace the heads of those you love and those you don’t know but look like they could use a nice crown (my kids loving gifting their crowns to kids at the park when we are leaving; they’ve never encountered anything other than pure excitement and gratitude when gifting crowns to others). In the meantime, I want to share my favorite poem of all time: Clover Blossom by Louisa May Alcott. Please do the young ones in your life a favor and read this poem to them. You might want to present it as more of a story than a poem as it is a little lengthy. The imagery is beautiful, the message is a wonderful lesson on kindness, and who doesn’t love it when the underdog wins?
Clover-Blossom by Louisa May Alcott
In a quiet, pleasant meadow,
Beneath a summer sky,
Where green old trees their branches waved,
And winds went singing by;
Where a little brook went rippling
So musically low,
And passing clouds cast shadows
On the waving grass below;
Where low, sweet notes of brooding birds
Stole out on the fragrant air,
And golden sunlight shone undimmed
On all most fresh and fair;--
There bloomed a lovely sisterhood
Of happy little flowers,
Together in this pleasant home,
Through quiet summer hours.
No rude hand came to gather them,
No chilling winds to blight;
Warm sunbeams smiled on them by day,
And soft dews fell at night.
So here, along the brook-side,
Beneath the green old trees,
The flowers dwelt among their friends,
The sunbeams and the breeze.
One morning, as the flowers awoke,
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair,
A little worm came creeping by,
And begged a shelter there.
"Ah! pity and love me," sighed the worm,
"I am lonely, poor, and weak;
A little spot for a resting-place,
Dear flowers, is all I seek.
I am not fair, and have dwelt unloved
By butterfly, bird, and bee.
They little knew that in this dark form
Lay the beauty they yet may see.
Then let me lie in the deep green moss,
And weave my little tomb,
And sleep my long, unbroken sleep
Till Spring's first flowers come.
Then will I come in a fairer dress,
And your gentle care repay
By the grateful love of the humble worm;
Kind flowers, O let me stay!"
But the wild rose showed her little thorns,
While her soft face glowed with pride;
The violet hid beneath the drooping ferns,
And the daisy turned aside.
Little Houstonia scornfully laughed,
As she danced on her slender stem;
While the cowslip bent to the rippling waves,
And whispered the tale to them.
A blue-eyed grass looked down on the worm,
As it silently turned away,
And cried, "Thou wilt harm our delicate leaves,
And therefore thou canst not stay."
Then a sweet, soft voice, called out from far,
"Come hither, poor worm, to me;
The sun lies warm in this quiet spot,
And I'll share my home with thee."
The wondering flowers looked up to see
Who had offered the worm a home:
'T was a clover-blossom, whose fluttering leaves
Seemed beckoning him to come;
It dwelt in a sunny little nook,
Where cool winds rustled by,
And murmuring bees and butterflies came,
On the flower's breast to lie.
Down through the leaves the sunlight stole,
And seemed to linger there,
As if it loved to brighten the home
Of one so sweet and fair.
Its rosy face smiled kindly down,
As the friendless worm drew near;
And its low voice, softly whispering, said
"Poor thing, thou art welcome here;
Close at my side, in the soft green moss,
Thou wilt find a quiet bed,
Where thou canst softly sleep till Spring,
With my leaves above thee spread.
I pity and love thee, friendless worm,
Though thou art not graceful or fair;
For many a dark, unlovely form,
Hath a kind heart dwelling there;
No more o'er the green and pleasant earth,
Lonely and poor, shalt thou roam,
For a loving friend hast thou found in me,
And rest in my little home."
Then, deep in its quiet mossy bed,
Sheltered from sun and shower,
The grateful worm spun its winter tomb,
In the shadow of the flower.
And Clover guarded well its rest,
Till Autumn's leaves were sere,
Till all her sister flowers were gone,
And her winter sleep drew near.
Then her withered leaves were softly spread
O'er the sleeping worm below,
Ere the faithful little flower lay
Beneath the winter snow.
Spring came again, and the flowers rose
From their quiet winter graves,
And gayly danced on their slender stems,
And sang with the rippling waves.
Softly the warm winds kissed their cheeks;
Brightly the sunbeams fell,
As, one by one, they came again
In their summer homes to dwell.
And little Clover bloomed once more,
Rosy, and sweet, and fair,
And patiently watched by the mossy bed,
For the worm still slumbered there.
Then her sister flowers scornfully cried,
As they waved in the summer air,
"The ugly worm was friendless and poor;
Little Clover, why shouldst thou care?
Then watch no more, nor dwell alone,
Away from thy sister flowers;
Come, dance and feast, and spend with us
These pleasant summer hours.
We pity thee, foolish little flower,
To trust what the false worm said;
He will not come in a fairer dress,
For he lies in the green moss dead."
But little Clover still watched on,
Alone in her sunny home;
She did not doubt the poor worm's truth,
And trusted he would come.
At last the small cell opened wide,
And a glittering butterfly,
From out the moss, on golden wings,
Soared up to the sunny sky.
Then the wondering flowers cried aloud,
"Clover, thy watch was vain;
He only sought a shelter here,
And never will come again."
And the unkind flowers danced for joy,
When they saw him thus depart;
For the love of a beautiful butterfly
Is dear to a flower's heart.
They feared he would stay in Clover's home,
And her tender care repay;
So they danced for joy, when at last he rose
And silently flew away.
Then little Clover bowed her head,
While her soft tears fell like dew;
For her gentle heart was grieved, to find
That her sisters' words were true,
And the insect she had watched so long
When helpless, poor, and lone,
Thankless for all her faithful care,
On his golden wings had flown.
But as she drooped, in silent grief,
She heard little Daisy cry,
"O sisters, look! I see him now,
Afar in the sunny sky;
He is floating back from Cloud-Land now,
Borne by the fragrant air.
Spread wide your leaves, that he may choose
The flower he deems most fair."
Then the wild rose glowed with a deeper blush,
As she proudly waved on her stem;
The Cowslip bent to the clear blue waves,
And made her mirror of them.
Little Houstonia merrily danced,
And spread her white leaves wide;
While Daisy whispered her joy and hope,
As she stood by her gay friends' side.
Violet peeped from the tall green ferns,
And lifted her soft blue eye
To watch the glittering form, that shone
Afar in the summer sky.
They thought no more of the ugly worm,
Who once had wakened their scorn;
But looked and longed for the butterfly now,
As the soft wind bore him on.
Nearer and nearer the bright form came,
And fairer the blossoms grew;
Each welcomed him, in her sweetest tones;
Each offered her honey and dew.
But in vain did they beckon, and smile, and call,
And wider their leaves unclose;
The glittering form still floated on,
By Violet, Daisy, and Rose.
Lightly it flew to the pleasant home
Of the flower most truly fair,
On Clover's breast he softly lit,
And folded his bright wings there.
"Dear flower," the butterfly whispered low,
"Long hast thou waited for me;
Now I am come, and my grateful love
Shall brighten thy home for thee;
Thou hast loved and cared for me, when alone,
Hast watched o'er me long and well;
And now will I strive to show the thanks
The poor worm could not tell.
Sunbeam and breeze shall come to thee,
And the coolest dews that fall;
Whate'er a flower can wish is thine,
For thou art worthy all.
And the home thou shared with the friendless worm
The butterfly's home shall be;
And thou shalt find, dear, faithful flower,
A loving friend in me."
Then, through the long, bright summer hours
Through sunshine and through shower,
Together in their happy home
Dwelt butterfly and flower.
Question to Ponder or Journal Prompt:
Find a quiet moment to reflect on what you were like as a child. What things did you enjoy? Do you still enjoy those things today?
A prayer for us all
Heavenly Father, you are the perfect model of authentic, joyful and generous hospitality. For those of us wrestling with some of the hospitality questions presented here today, help us, Lord, to align our priorities with yours and put people first. Help us to reach beyond our comfort levels to truly love others well even when it’s not convenient or easy. And, Father, I pray that we not only have eyes to see opportunities and hearts to serve our friends, neighbors, colleagues and acquaintances with hospitality, but also help us to have eyes to see opportunities and hearts to serve the least of these. You are a good, good Father and you bless us abundantly. Help us bless others this way, too. It’s in your matchless, holy name we pray, Amen.
A personal note
This week, we dropped our daughter off at a residential treatment facility. It’s always hard to do that, for her, and for all of us. Please keep our family in your prayers, particularly for Naomi as she has some hard work that needs to be done. But God! My in laws are visiting and will be watching the boys play two baseball games this weekend. With their baseball team this season, probably the only time they will ever be on the same team as my older son just missed the age cut off to be placed in the next age bracket up, I have reignited my love of baseball by helping out in the dugout and helping to coach first base. It has brought so much joy and truly helped in my healing journey. I’m grateful for these unexpected moments of joy!
I am also so incredibly grateful for you and that you have chosen to read my writing. You could read anything, yet you have chosen my newsletter. Thank you! Have a wonderful weekend and be blessed.
If you have been encouraged or blessed by this newsletter, please consider sharing it with others!
Such a beautiful letter with SO much goodness and inspiration, Kelly! 💗🙏🏻 Love your hospitality story about the true hospitality of opening our homes with signs of life in view (in all its fullness, in the form of abandoned bras, laundry piles ... and oh you made me smile about the karate-chopped pillows!! 😂).
As for the hymns, James K A Smith writes compellingly about this in his book You are what you love - I must dig out a quote I highlighted, am mid-through!
There’s so much I will come back to here! 🙏🏻🫶