I hop over a puddle in the crowded walkway carved between mud and stone houses following the “yes, this way” as I and three others are eagerly herded towards our destination. I push aside a curtain and smile as my eyes adjust to a single room, lit by a small circular hole in the side of one wall. My friends and I huddle together on a bench covered in fabric and can’t help but smile from our hearts as we are heartily greeted by our hosts. Curious faces periodically peek to see the muzungu guests, their faces silhouetted by the bright daylight. I grasp the cup given to me and am humbled by the gratitude our hosts are showering us with—just for arriving and spending a few hours with them. Almost immediately a heaping plate of steaming rice and beans is handed to me. I can't help the convicting thought that “She must have saved all week for this…”
Words
cannot adequately express the honor and humility that washes over me at that
realization. When was the last time I truly lived sacrificially, when did I save
so I could give? My culture prides itself on what you can keep…seemingly blind
to the joys of giving.
Our
meal is full of food made with love, sacrifice, and conversation of new friends
getting to know each other; worlds apart but together for this day, this meal. Through the clinking silverware, the
gratitude, the laughter, and the universal connection of a smile—I know I am
changed. One meal of rice and beans has humbled and honored me—this is what
hospitality looks like,
True
hospitality allows the guest to enter in. It is unapologetic and joyful. It is
infectiously welcoming—there is freedom in openness that is contagious. I will
never forget that.
All
too soon our meal ended and we left with full stomachs and hearts. Through the
crowded paths, the rain-soaked streets, and cacophonous Saturday, my heart was
stilled. I had been invited to so much more than a meal—I was invited to enter
into a new perspective, one that lived out the truth that it IS better to give
than to receive.
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