I know that I just wrote a post about my love for throwing parties, and I meant it. My dream job (a part from getting paid money to write) would be event planning. Back when Jonathan was a youth pastor (before I had kids and before I could cook) I used to plan social events for our church family and I just loved every part of it.
I also love having people in my home. I take seriously to command to exercise hospitality and I enjoy having friends in for a comfortable meal and fellowship and maybe a game or a discussion or whatever makes our friends comfortable. The first thing that would change about our life if Jonathan ever stopped working at Chick-fil-A and we had our evenings back would be our return to having someone in for a meal once a week.
Here’s the thing. I love entertaining. I love hospitality. I get a little stressed when the two things coincide. This weekend we are hosting a Lunch with a Missionary event for our church’s missions conference and I’m freaking out a little. If I was planning a lunch for our small group and a missionary family to be held at another location I would be a little giddy. If I were having a missionary family over for lunch after the service I would be thrilled. Instead I’m hosting sixteen people for lunch in my 800 sq. ft. seminary apartment and I’m freaking out a little.
Some of the freaking out is pure logistics: how do I fit everyone comfortably into my apartment? How do I make sure everyone feels relaxed and welcomed instead of shoulder to shoulder? Do I install a timer and traffic light on the only bathroom?
But mostly the freaking out is a fear of having my personal failings exposed. I’m afraid that I can’t meet my own expectations for both entertaining and hospitality and that both will suffer. I’m freaking out because I’m making it all about me. I am providing an opportunity for some people from my church to meet missionaries to Africa that our church supports and I’ve managed to make that about what people will think of my baseboards and centerpieces. It’s a little ridiculous when I put it down in black and white like that.
The bottom line, however, is that fearful or not, potential personal fail moment or not, we’re doing it, and we’ll love it and hopefully no one will remember my baseboards, or my centerpieces, or maybe even my name. Instead I hope that people will come to my home to meet missionaries, and that they will leave glorifying God for all He has done.
Now please excuse me, while I move all my living room furniture into my dining room for the weekend.