One Generation to Another Part 2

August of last year I wrote about an afternoon I spent talking to two strangers at my apartment pool, one middle aged, and one quite old. I was reminded again of that day when something quite like it happened, but this time in a far more beautiful way. In a way that made my very bones cry out and my heart feel as if it would burst.

It began several months ago when a family moved from a small coastal village in South Africa all the way to our quiet apartment complex. For the first little while I enjoyed their company, but before long became intensely uncomfortable. They seemed to have no respect for privacy, nor my desire to be alone. Their three young children joined my walks without even asking, regularly requested to come into my apartment unit, and refused to take no as an answer when I obviously wanted to be left in peace. Within a few weeks, the knocking began, one or two of the boys rapping at the door at random hours.

What I didn’t realize until a few weeks later is that I, not they, were the problem. I for years have been zealously telling others how much Wendell Berry inspires me and how much I want to be like him, but I managed to get it all wrong. I held my own feeling of safety as far more important than handing over my life to God’s kingdom of service, hospitality, and love.

But I didn’t realize any of this on my own. It was Rosaria Butterfield and her life-altering book “The Gospel Comes with a House Key.” If I were to recommend any one book to those just beginning to form their own home for the first time, it would be this book. There really aren’t enough words to describe the effect it had on me. The peace, grace, and hospitality that Rosaria emanates became a salve to my raw soul during one of the most difficult times of my life. Her servant heart is plain, her desire to love others in every walk of life clear as a summer day. A soup on the stove, cookies waiting for the oven, and pitchers of lemonade are always at the ready. The door is always open, children and dogs running in and out throughout the long summer days. Moments alone she takes often, just as Christ Himself did on earth, but these moments were preparation for throwing herself back into the chaotic love of hospitality. The farther I walked through her story, the more I saw Christ in both her and the South African family I had come to know.

The first time I invited myself into the family’s gathering, it took me a while to join. I paced in and out of the house, stood behind a bush like some fearful rabbit, trying to move past the fear of accidental imposition. But oh how quickly were those fears demolished. The moment I approached the little fire, I was tackled by Coco, the tiny blonde fairy princess they called daughter. Before I knew what had happened, I was handed a traditional South African sandwich (cheese, tomato, and onion on fire-toasted bread) and completely surrounded by friendly faces. Questions were exchanged between I, the pack of children, and the several sets of parents. Introductions were made between I and the other families. Within the hour, I had gained the name “Tannie,” the Afrikaans word for auntie. A nickname has never warmed my soul more than this one.

The following week, I was a bit braver, going up to the door. It was, per usual, wide open, and I was greeted with shrieks of delight and several welcoming hugs. Another family slowly trickled in, and soon I was seated at a table full of other adults. A sigh escaped my lips, one partly of contentment and partly of disbelief that this was real. I had been handed a cup of honey-sweetened tea and the little blonde princess was comfortably curled up on my lap as we discussed natural medicine and the artistic manner in which God created the human body. This was what we were created for. This coming and going and sharing of bread and conversation. Such perfection, and yet so natural for these families from the other side of Earth.

As I go through each days and weeks now, I try to remember Rosaria, and to think of the many other souls that I walk past and usually don’t notice. I notice the older woman who sits outside with her nurse every day to get some sun and fresh air. Even a short conversation might mean the world to her. I notice the kids who bike, scooter, and run past my home every evening. A wave, smile, or compliment might just spark a new friendship. I notice the newlywed couple who just moved in near me. Inviting them over for dinner might be exactly what they need to finally feel at home in their new stage of life. Maybe I’ll have a lifelong relationship with them. And who knows, maybe I’ll get another fancy grilled cheese sandwich too.

A wise friend of mine tells me often to embrace the uncomfortable. To push into that feeling until it blossoms into something beautiful and whole. And so as I am learning to truly live, I chase this way of life. This way that we all find so strange, and yet is exactly what we were made for, what brings us as close to heaven as we can be on this earth. To lock arms and march towards the front lines. The war has been won, but the battles have been left for us to fight, with weapons of both swords and open doors.

Further up and further in my dear friends, all manner of things shall be well in the Mended Wood.