living in a world of excess

I know that the whole world isn't full of excessive living, but my part sure is. I'm especially reminded of this when I travel to developing countries, or host guests from those countries.

Having a teenager from Afghanistan come to live with us has made me question some of my spending choices. The whole "is this a need or a want" question just seems laughable at times, because I live so far from my needs. I live in the world of wants - many of which I carefully take the time to justify.

We had friends from Benin come to our house for supper last week. And I went through my usual list of hosting worries: the house is too small, we don't have enough places to sit, the house is too messy, will the food be ok. This is my ritual when hosting people at our place. I worry. But when they come, I have no problem living in the moment and enjoying myself and I wonder why I ever worried. Silly.

But there's one other thing that I'm a bit self-conscious about when hosting these friends: we feed a rodent in our kitchen. Not just human hungry bellies, but a rodent's too. Mind you, this is a furry and lovable guinea pig pet who lives in a cage. But still. It's a rodent. Living in better conditions than many of the world's people. And that makes me more than a little uncomfortable. It makes me wonder what my responsibility is in this whole messy world we live in. Why am I stuffed while others starve?

My husband talks about living in Colombia and being inspired by the people there. No one he encountered asked, "What can we do?" They just jump in and DO something. And they have far fewer resources than I do. So why do I feel helpless sometimes, overwhelmed by the problems, wondering what I can do to help? Why can't I just jump in?

We have this prayer hanging in our kitchen. It's a good reminder of this imbalance in the world:

God, please help the poor get rich and the rich get poor so they know 
what it feels like. 

And then, God, let everyone switch back to medium 

and let everyone have the same amount of food and money. Amen. 

-- Ben Zimmerly Jantzi, 7 years old

make room

I have discovered the secret to clearing some clutter from my house: invite someone to come and live with us for a year. Preferably someone who will notice and appreciate a more clutter-free house - someone beyond the infant/toddler/childhood stages.

Over the past two weeks, we've had some interesting developments in our family. We've agreed to host a high school student from Afghanistan for the next year, and she arrived yesterday. We're all very excited. My daughters are especially looking forward to having a big sister.

When I look back to my wish at the beginning of June to put the house on a diet and live in a more clutter-free home, it makes me think: be careful what you wish for. I had no idea that this hosting opportunity was going to come about this month, but it was just the motivation I needed. It blends my wish for a saner house with my wish to extend hospitality in meaningful ways.

We cleared out our spare bedroom (it's amazing how much can fit into one closet!) and had to make some decisions about what to keep and what to toss. The room is ready now and I keep going into it just to look around and sigh a deep, happy sigh. It looks so lovely and peaceful and serene. And I realized: this is what I want. I want this serene feeling ALL OVER my house!

look! empty shelves!

It's not quite there yet. But it's coming, and it's much improved after many loads to the thrift store and recycling/garbage.

In a friend's comments to this post, she talked about being a "Doozer" - those characters from the show Fraggle Rock who were "futilely industrious." I immediately identified, and thought about these Doozers a lot over the past few days of madly cleaning. I said to myself, "Don't be a Doozer," meaning don't just take something from one room and store it in another, shuffling clutter around. Make a system. Throw it out. Give it away. Free yourself. Be liberated from your doozerness. Make room.

This past Christmas, I wrote a play for the kids at our church to perform called "Make Room." My brother-in-law wrote the theme song, and the chorus went like this:

Make room, make room, make room
There's something here that God wants to do
You can be a part of it too
So open up the door and make room

[this song will be on his soon-to-be-released new album]

So along with my Doozer mantra, I sang this chorus as we tidied up and made room. We're making room for surprises, for new opportunities, for new life.

messy hospitality

Taking risks in extending hospitality is not something I often do. I play it safe: only invite close friends or family, and only when the house has been sufficiently tidied. So it doesn't usually amount to all that much hosting. I make excuses for not being more hospitable: our place is too small, we're too busy this week, cooking for a crowd stresses me out, we might act too hyper and misbehave (I can be quite unruly at times), and our house is too messy.

Which makes me think about the messiness of hospitality. Because things will never be perfect in our house - we live here, after all, 4 of us messies. And there will never be a perfect food or time or even house. We'd get a bigger house and still I'd make excuses. I need to just do it.

It can be messy to invite people in - you don't know what to expect. Questions swirl in my mind: will they like this food? Will the food turn out? Will there be enough? What will we talk about? Will they have a good time?

But I want to be open to this. To take risks in extending hospitality amidst the messiness of life. To welcome a stranger and to see what gifts could come from our encounter. To step out of what's comfortable. To reshape my priorities. To open my heart and home to someone else. To potentially host an angel.

"Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it." Hebrews 13:1-2

Hospitality can be hard work, but I receive so many gifts in return. It can be deeply satisfying, filled with memories that stay with me long after the meal is tidied up.

"Welcome is one of the signs that a community is alive. To invite others to live with us is a sign that we aren't afraid, that we have a treasure of truth and of peace to share. A community which refuses to welcome - whether through fear, weariness, insecurity, a desire to cling to comfort, or just because it is fed up with visitors - is dying spiritually." Jean Vanier

I have been humbled and abundantly blessed by the hospitality of those who have much less than me. Some of my most memorable experiences as a guest were in tiny, poor, or messy places. Or when the people were more important than the food that was served. Where relationships were treasured - regardless of whether the food or home could appear in Martha Stewart's magazine. 


The following is a journal entry that I wrote after visiting a mountain village on the island of Java in Indonesia years ago.

Today I had a lot to learn from the hospitality of the people in Indonesia. We visited a village high in the mountains, climbing worn steps until we saw the tops of the small buildings. We heard the loudspeaker from the mosque announce, “Come and meet our guests!”

Everyone in the village came to greet us - women, men, babies, children, youth. Their routine days stopped in order to accommodate our presence.

They welcomed us into a home. The people were very attentive and made us feel like honoured guests. Our hosts loaded the tables until there was no more room. Plates and bowls filled to the brim. Glasses of sweet palm juice. Piles of small bananas and rambutans and leechee fruits, juicy and sweet like candy as they rolled around in my mouth. Mounds of crispy chips, jiggly emerald puddings, and dried fruit dripping with sugary golden syrup. 

We asked them questions about their village, and they asked us questions about our countries. They told us that their lives were good - that everyone in the village had enough to eat and a house to live in. Then one man asked us, “How did your countries get so rich?” and then “What can we do to get rich like you?”

Those questions have stayed with me. I wanted to tell him that our countries need to learn to be more like his village - to be happy with “enough”, and to not always yearn for bigger and better. But who was I to tell him that? I was a rich person in his eyes. How can a rich person tell someone who is poor not to wish for wealth?