messy hospitality

“c’mon in!” she says.

there is clothes folded, 

stacked against the wall, and 

toys in the living room begging to be played with.

the house looks and smells 

warm and clean,

so luxurious and functional,

the smell of clove, cardamon and cinnamon waft beneath our noses

she’s making chai from scratch.

she busies herself with ceylon cinnamon sticks and fresh ginger.

we talk of church,

husbands, 

and the fight with time slipping from our fingers like sand.

shepherd wakes up sometime in between our chats and the others jumping on and off 

the girls bed.

“do you want the pink gem or a red one?” rhema demands an answer from psalm, 

in her little mother voice. 

noelle pulls at the tail of her mother’s shirt,

“I’m hungry, mom!”

in the midst of all of this

Mallory somehow 

continues to:

finish making the chai, 

grab shep from his nap and change his diaper, 

start to make blueberry muffins with just a bowl, a spatula and a prayer, 

all while asking me thoughtful questions, making me feel 

seen, heard, and loved.

I sit there,

in awe of her.

her home is gorgeous, 

beautifully curated, and well designed, 

of course it is. 

but what I love more is the gift of time she is giving me, 

not waiting till all the clothes are folded, or the dishes are put away.

her presence is a treasure,

and I am honored to be invited in.

messy hospitality, I call it.

but it feels more like 

holiness. 

I want to be like her.

opening my home, 

my heart,

my calendar. 

not waiting for perfection,

but welcoming others into 

peace. 

into rest. 

I want to care for others and 

give and receive grace,

as we break bread, 

and bring shalom into 

the every day chaos.

mallory, 

you are a gift to me. 

your friendship, 

your wisdom,

your example.

opening your incredible home,

thank you for the blueberry muffins, the fragrant chai,

and a glimpse into 

His grace.