Welcome or Not
This week, I am re-reading Bri McKoy’s book Come and Eat: A Celebration of Love and Grace Around the Everyday Table, a book about the importance of hospitality and of inviting people into your life and to your table. It’s such a sweet book, as full of sunshine as Bri McKoy herself truly seems, and as I read it this time, I am noticing the way she redefines and refines the idea of hospitality: being fully yourself and secure in the love of God so you can love others well.
It’s an intriguing idea, because I have rarely thought of hospitality as something I needed to give myself. Hospitality was all about others, and I generally believed that offering it well took lovely decor, a spotless house, and a flawless meal.
I am not great at my version of hospitality.
Two weeks ago, Joe and I were making dinner, and I was planning our son’s birthday dinner. He wanted spinach lasagna and my daughter’s famous chocolate cake. “But I’m not inviting my parents and my sister for lasagna,” I said. “They can come for cake after dinner.”
“This lasagna is literally your dad’s favorite meal,” Joe said.
I waved toward the entryway, where a pile of old toys and several stacks of outgrown winter clothes awaited their trip to Goodwill. “I’m not going to have time to deal with that stuff before his birthday,” I said. “The lasagna takes forever, and the cake is going to have to get done tomorrow night. Plus, by the time I get everyone home from school, I’m not going to have time to pick up much, and all I’m going to have time to make is lasagna and bread. I don’t know if it’s enough food for everybody.”
Joe poured barbecue sauce into the pan. “Are you really about to not invite your family to share your life because the cleaning won’t be to your standards and you don’t have time for sides?”
I felt defensive, but I knew he was right, and I recognized my sneaky desire to be impressive squeezing out people I love. Once again, I made hospitality about me and used it as an excuse not to offer what I have.
We slid another leaf in the table and my family came, arriving just after my daughter finished frosting the cake with the words “MC Hammer.” (The heart wants what it wants, and the birthday boy is a big fan.) It was one of our first meals together after all of us were vaccinated, and laughter kept us lingering at the table long after the kids abandoned us. We talked about summer break and remembered other birthdays. There was, of course, plenty of food. Joe had put the Goodwill collection into his trunk for delivery the next day, but the rest of the night was a cheerful clutter of torn wrapping paper and new toys littering the floor. I let myself be there in the messiness, celebrating a much-loved guy with some of my favorite people in the world.
It was so sweet.
Joe was right. I would have let myself miss that night.
I’m not sure I’ll ever really learn, but I’ll keep trying.
I really do recommend Bri’s book, Come and Eat. It’s a kind and thoughtful reflection on figuring out how to welcome other people into your life and at your table. She has a million easy and delicious recipes, is so much fun on Instagram, and has recently started doing live cooking classes, which are helpful and delightful. But the book itself is a gem.
