Sad to say and a little hard to admit, but I used to dread hosting people in our home.
Michael was the one with the “hospitality gift,” and though I liked the idea of it, opening our house usually filled me with such anxiety and fear of judgment that I found the only way was to power through, to try and perform my best.
So I’d clean. Flower arrange. Tame piles. Try to remember to throw on a stripe of lipgloss before the door knock. But like every other human, around here we live real life — and so all the ways I fell short caused me to feel frustrated and disappointed, sure people were picking apart our imperfect as we sat around chatting.
I might try to beat them to the punch, point out the lack of baseboards before they noticed or make a self-effacing comment about the mounds of kid stuff.
I simply could not make my home look like my mind’s vision, and it made me feel disappointed and tired. Then I felt shallow for caring too much.
This last weekend, we had an old and dear friend and his beautiful daughter stay with us for several nights. And I was reminded again how much I now enjoy making up that bed in the basement, reconnecting when the sun’s gone down and sharing conversation over breakfast biscuits. How much I’ve grown to delight in a house where people are welcome, and we share what we have.
I realize how much this has changed because of the years of inviting people in when it was difficult, gradually releasing the need to manage and control it all (even forcing myself to be spontaneous) — loosing the grip.
I also see how much it’s changed because of YOU.
Blogging has surprised me in hundreds of ways, and one of them is that I’ve felt over these two and a half years that I could make this place a home, and you might want to draw near and stay a while. I’ve learned that this is a place where I can safely be my quirky, deep, goofy, questioning self. Where I can make mistakes and live beauty in the midst of the mess. Be in a state of becoming, and you can too.
Besides, if I waited for perfect words, I’d never write. If I waited for a perfect home, I’d never extend the welcome.
I want you to know that when I’m away for several days because of full life, I miss you, and I want you to come over. So I open the doors and let you know I’m here, and there’s a pot of soup on. It might be filled with leftovers, but it’s what we’ve got, and you’re welcome.
And when I despair over our imperfect home and my imperfect writing offerings, I try to remember that imperfect is common ground. That lovely, messy and true community is made in throwing open the door as-is, showing up as we are and inviting others to the same.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Ashley,
You have made this space as welcoming and safe as any I have ever come upon. I come here to read your always beautiful words, but more, to be with your person, real and kind and assuring. You are a gift, a sweet gift to me.
Kim, your words of love, sharing with me the value of this place in your life — it means so much. I am grateful for your faithful companionship on this journey. Bless you, friend.
This is so refreshing it makes me understand why I desire to keep drawing near. I am grateful for the opportunity to watch you grow and learn how to grow myself from your example.
Thank you, Deb. Always so much growing to do, but it’s encouraging to remember from whence we came. :-)
“I try to remember that imperfect is common ground. That lovely, messy and true community is made in throwing open the door as-is, showing up as we are and inviting others to the same.” Girl… yes!!! Just so much YES!
I learn so much about throwing open the door from your example. You’ve made such a warm, loving, welcoming place, Karrilee. Much love to you!
Your confession brings back memories of the me who used to clean her house BEFORE toddler play dates- as if the other moms would notice my dust as we all wore ourselves out chasing two year olds:) And, then, of course, I’d clean the house AFTER they’d left, because hosting toddlers beneath your roof is just a sure fire recipe for MESS! I’m glad you’ve opened your door here. It’s one of my favorite places to linger. Wise words today, Ashley—“Imperfect is common ground.” Beautiful and true.
Sweet Alicia, isn’t that ridiculous?! The cleaning before the toddler play date…I’ve done that many times too. I wish I had known to do differently back then, but I am thankful we’ve learned some things along the way. Maybe it’s some freedom we can pass on to our kiddos. :-)
I love this, Ashley. I’m feeling so much of it lately, with my words and my hospitality and all of it so imperfect. Seriously. We are of one mind, sister. Thanks for speaking truth when I need to hear it. You are drowning out lies.
Imperfect…yes, so much of that. Grateful we’re in the lie drowning business together. I’m grateful for you.
THANK YOU! That is all. Just thank you!
Glad to see your beautiful self here, and I can’t wait for our face to face soon.
When you write I feel this space and you in it. Imperfect, maybe. But always gloriously real and inviting in the best of ways. You make imperfect welcoming and really, isn’t that the most glorious kind of hospitality? Not performance or perfection but a peaceful place to come and be. Offering what you have. I am not good at this, we always seem to be in transition and opening my home is hard for a number of reasons but I want this heart to share imperfect and be ok. To answer the door with no makeup on, dishes in the sink, and not care. And when we came to stay at your home, I told Kathi, “this looks just like Ashley,” even though we’d never met. I loved that your writing tells enough about you that there were no surprises when we met. You were every bit as lovely as I had thought when reading your words here. I loved the coziness of the basement and the handmade signs from your girls and mostly sitting at the kitchen table talking with you guys. I didn’t notice any baseboards or piles but even if they were there, I wouldn’t have cared at all. You made it feel like home, just like your words in this space.
Wow, friend. So humbled by these words. It’s a continual challenge to be ok with the real me, the real imperfect life we live — but I’m going to keep fighting for it. And praying new layers of freedom for you in this process, too. Love you.
What a great post, Ashley. We host a weekly small group Bible study in our house, and it’s an ongoing exercise in humility, but I think also in authenticity? Because while I’ll make the effort to improve the spaces, I’ll only take it so far. There will inevitably be fingerprints on the glass and stains on the carpet. I’d never thought to create an analog between my house and my blog, but you’ve nailed it. I’m aiming for authenticity in both spaces…and beauty in the chaos. Thank you for inviting me into your word house.
*analogy…”y” sticks :)
Authenticity, humility, beauty in the chaos…yes, Brandee! Weekly small group hosting started to bring me to this new place you describe — something freeing (and so good for relationship) about allowing ourselves to be seen in process, whether it’s emotional or in the physical space we inhabit. Thanks for sharing!
Oh friend- we are of the same heart. Even down to the excuses about the imperfections of our home.
So glad you still welcome us here.
Having people over tonight. No excuses, baby! So glad you join me here, Lori. Xoxo
Precious Ashley. There is not one among us who have not had that feeling of inferiorority. You have expressed it so eloquently, and I especially like the way you described getting over it. I promise that each year that you get older, you get more comfortable within your self. I love you and you God given talent of expressing yourself.
That gives me so much hope, Auntie! Thank you! I love you!
I love being with you in your spaces.
Love sharing ours with one another. You bless me. Thanks for helping me find my way along this journey.
Thank you for your authenticity dear friend…all of this I can so relate too & truly treasure our times together in our imperfect, yet love-filled homes!
Imperfect with love is the new beautiful. I’m convinced. :-) xoxo
Ashley, I. love. this: “true community is made in throwing open the door as-is, showing up as we are and inviting others to the same.” And yes, friend, imperfect is common ground. Let’s meet there, shall we? (and this makes me want to come visit) Love you so much. xo.
Yes, let’s! We’d love to have you. Visiting Portland anytime in the near future? Much love, dear Nacole!
Your precious heart shines through every.single.time.you. press.publish. One day I will look you in your real and hospitable eyeballs and we will eat biscuits and drink coffee. This place is a bloggy home for me. My home away from home. I feel welcome always here.
I cannot wait for the day. And the feeling is mutual. You ooze welcome, Elizabeth. Grateful for you, your words, your place, your heart.
So much I can relate to here. Isolation makes us believe that we are the outsiders, we are the not-quite-together-ones. In reality we have much in common. Including base board that goes unfinished, messes, and sticky floors. Same goes for the insecurities, and feeling scared. Blogging too has change me dramatically. More than anything it has made me Hopeful. Hopeful that it really is not me against the world, and everyone is as messed up, yet valuable and redeemable, as I am. And that feels good. I feel good when I come and visit here.
Cheers,
Leah
Yes! Isolation makes us believe we are alone in our imperfect brokenness. You are so right, Leah. I’m thankful to read that you, too, have had a similar experience through blogging. The “me too” experience is one of my favorite parts in this writing out loud world. You are always welcome and bring me such joy through your presence. Bless you, Leah!
Friend, you have a gift for welcoming people in, making others feel completely at home wherever you are and however they are, of being real in a way that also effortlessly wraps people up in the comfort and beauty of your gentle words of truth. I marvel at this, because it’s rare, and perhaps it’s a greater gift than you are even aware of. God is here, in your space, Ash. I love this.
Wow. Thank you, Amber. I love that you’re here. I love you.
Amen Sister!
There is nothing better than coming into to another’s fully human spaces and places!
That is were we find belonging!!!
Thanks for shouting it out to us all!
xoxo
I love how you connect humanity and belonging, friend. You are so right. I’ll keep on beating this “fully human” drum…so glad for the ways God’s changing me through acknowledging and speaking weakness & need (for both fellow travelers and God himself).