It was about 1am ( Girls Nights at my house are definitely a special occasion!) . Turning out the lights to go to bed my heart was full, my mind at rest. I was thinking of nights filled with laughter. Of afternoons with kids running around the garden and bouncing on the trampoline. I was thinking of last minute meals with friends on a sunny Californian day. I remembered conversations around an Arizonan fire pit, or lazing by a pool. People cramped into a terraced house (Americans: read tiny house) in Sheffield, lining the stairs, standing in doorways. All of them talking, eating, and being. Some of the gatherings seemed to happen spontaneously; others were birthed in persistent planning.

These days and nights were good news. His kingdom came, and I believe. Friendships were born and nurtured, given time and space to grow. People felt known. Talking became transformational, because testimonies were tools for one another’s lives. Visions for a city, dreams that could impact a neighborhood were ignited in conversation. Compliments flowed over the food, the homes, affirming gifts and talents in every direction. There was room for intense conversation in corners. Twos and threes leaned in, talking and praying. There were people praying for physical healing, or crying for hope. Some people sharing prophetic words over dessert. Sometimes someone would pray to commit their life to Jesus for the first time. These gatherings were big enough to dare, but still small enough to care.

I’ve still a lot to learn about hospitality. But this I know: We underestimate the power of community, of being together in His name. Don’t check out of it by saying ‘but its not my gift” and hope someone else steps up. Hospitality is a gift to us that creates an opportunity to be the hands and feet and voice of Jesus in a way that a Sunday large gathering just can’t do, that a quick coffee at the end of church can only hint at. Hospitality is a vehicle that helps us live as families on mission.

So are you ready? Yes there is a price… the closed doors of our hearts, the closed life we’re been leading It will probably cost us to go there –time, money, effort. It may make us face ourselves and our selfishness. It may make us finally address the stresses and vulnerabilities of family life hidden behind closed doors.

Where will you start?

Perhaps an extra setting at the table once a week, or once a month. Inviting your children’s friends and their parents over. A potluck? Huddle at your house? Hosting an MC? A night for all your people of peace.

Choose something. Start it as a discipline. Until it becomes a habit. Until it becomes a rhythm. Until it becomes your life.

When we choose to genuinely engage with God and offer hospitality, I wonder if heaven hears something else above the talking and the music. I wonder if heaven hears the sound of our collective guard coming down, and hears our masks being peeled away. The sound of unspoken vulnerability when we choose to invite one another into our imperfect honest lives. I think heaven hears the sound of chains crashing to the ground, as people step into the freedom found into a life together.

In some dusty corner, they’ll see my guard and my masks and my chains. I don’t need them anymore.

Come on friends, its time for the beginning…

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4