Wednesday’s and Thursday’s posts were a preview of coming attractions of sorts. I’ve been trying to talk about how J and I have begun to start thinking more seriously about radical hospitality, but a blog post or two just can’t do that whole conversation justice. Obviously.
As we went house-hunting this spring, driving around neighborhoods and trying to envision our life over the next two… three… decades, we took a lot of things into consideration. We really wanted to be able to walk to “town,” which means J wanted to be able to walk to the college and I wanted to be able to walk to the two coffee shops and a handful of restaurants on Main Street. We both wanted to garden. I really wanted an upstairs (since our first home was in Texas, the land of one-story houses). We wanted an old home in need of TLC.
But more than all of these things, we knew we wanted to be able to make space. We didn’t want a big house, but it needed to be a house that could allow us to be radically hospitable. Again, we didn’t know what that would look like. We still don’t.
But here’s what we do know.
We’re a half-mile’s walk to town. We have an extra yard and a young garden already in the ground (and we discovered blackberries beside the shed!). Our house was built in the 50s and is quite the fixer-upper. I have an upstairs. It’s a small bungalow with funky arched doorways, but the way it’s set up allows room for our family to grow, whatever that ends up looking like.
And it has already.
In casual conversation, J found out that someone we know was in need of a place to stay. He came home and asked what I thought. We looked at each other, shrugged, and said, “Of course.” (I probably said, “Duh,” because that’s the sort of thing I say.) So J went back as a messenger of hospitality, and the rest is history.
We have a friend–a new family member, really–living in our midst, sharing our space as well as the adventures and frustrations of fixer-upper-ing. That’s worth a blog post all to itself, so stay tuned.
Welcome to the family, A.