Horrible-Key To Horrible Hosting

The thing about horribleness is that I usually don’t know it’s there. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I wake up and I’m mad. Horribly mad. I’m mad at my kids for not appreciating the eggs I make them. I’m mad that I’m up making eggs. I’m mad! Thanks be to God, that’s not how I usually function. Horribleness just lurks behind a tiny door inside of me. Most people don’t look around hard enough for the door, but some people have a knack for finding it. Some people hold the key to my horribleness and they poke at me with their horrible-key. So, the door flies open and out pops a dose of horribleness.

Hosting people in my home, I sometimes run across horrible-key holders. There are people who have a unique way of accessing all the worst parts of my personality. Those are troubled visits. Sometimes, I seem to hold a horrible-key myself and I unlock something in them that brings out a concentrated dose of bile and wrath. Sigh. I often find that family members are the biggest key-holders to horrible doors. Why do we poke at each other? I just don’t know. Horrible doors, guard yours carefully. Horrible-keys, watch out for carriers.

My husband and I were in our very first apartment when we were asked to host our first big group. We were so excited. The InterVarsity group from our alma mater wanted to stop by for breakfast as they took a road trip up to Colorado. They were starting out early in the morning and by the time they got to us, they would have been on the road for 4 hours. We had plenty of notice. We were told to expect 20 students and 3 staff workers at 9 am.

Ray (my super-spouse) and I met because the two of us were in a campus group called InterVarsity. We have fond and formative memories about the community we experienced in that group. In fact, the way our group of college friends lived life together and supported one another is the foundation of our desire to host today.

Because nothing happens in isolation, the day before these students visited us, my sweet sister went in to labor with her very first child. She zipped off to the hospital, got her epidural and settled down for what became a legendary 40 hour labor. With a working epidural, bed rest and nothing but 80’s movies to entertain her, my expectant sister got bored. So, she called to check on me because that’s what big sisters do apparently, even when they’re in labor.

“So,” she said, not sounding like a person in the throws of giving birth, “are you ready for tomorrow?” Does anyone else see the irony of this question? “Yes” I answered. Though I should have said “Are YOU ready for tomorrow?” She was not, by the way. Few of us ever are.

She wanted to know what I’d gotten to feed people. I had two dozen eggs and some biscuits. She disapproved. My mother was there too. She seconded the disapproval. “Uh-uh, that’s not enough. You need to get more eggs or put some milk in those eggs and get some more carbs for those people.”

Survey says 0.00% of little sisters enjoy being bossed around. As you can see by my statistics, I fit neatly into this population. But like most little sisters, I answered with grace. I said, “Don’t you have something to do besides bother me? Go have a baby or something.” And by that, she understood that I wished her well and hoped she was able to get some rest before the big event. I feel the conversation ended well. This is not, by the way, an example of horribleness. No, no, true horribleness is far more intense.

The college students trooped into my apartment in the stupor that comes from an early rise and a long drive. They ate the eggs and biscuits in a cumulative total of 87.5 seconds and then they looked around at my living room furniture to see if the couch might taste good. It all happened so fast that I hadn’t even finished making their café mochas. (Instant coffee mixed with milk and instant hot chocolate.) I looked up and noticed my empty table and the hungry eyes staring at me. I got out my loaf of bread and a jar of peanut-butter and all of my fruit. Gone. More eyes. I said to three fellows, particularly close by, “Do you guys want some cereal?” I got a couple grunts with a shoulder shrug and a “yes.” I took the rest of them to be done eating. I got out a bowl and poured some cereal for the one “yes”. Instantly, all the eyes lit up. “Hey, where did that come from? Can I have some?”

I frowned at a newly interested college student. This young man was a friendly acquaintance of mine. I expected better. “This is what I just OFFERED you! You weren’t even paying attention when you said no!” I was a bit sharp. I was feeling overwhelmed. But then it happened. I didn’t even know it, but there in front of me was a horrible-key holder. A young man who’d been listening to us decided that this would be a good time to make an angry cat sound. (How do you even spell that?) Open popped… my horrible door.

“You come into someone’s home where they feed you and shelter you for free and this is what you have to say? Get OUT! GO!” And indeed, I pointed to the patio and sent him out there until everyone was ready to go. Horrible hosting.

Sooo, why did I share this story? I’m not proud of it. It stands as a marker for me. It helps to remember your goals. If my goal had been to stand up for myself and keep rude young college students from overstepping their bounds, I had met my goal. But it wasn’t. I was so excited to host and there-by to help out my former college minister in his goals. I had set those goals as feeding a bunch of hungry kids and providing a clean bathroom break. Set better goals. My actual goal was to help out by echoing the message that God’s love is for EVERYONE and no matter who you are, He wants to transform you with that love. Breakfast is just an excuse. The real reason to let people in, is to show them that they are loved. Since I set my goal at making a great breakfast that people would enjoy and be thankful for, it was easy to fail. I can’t control the responses of other people! Not only did I fail at providing a big enough breakfast; I got pissed off when they didn’t act thankful. If I had set my goal higher, my horrible-door wouldn’t have been so vulnerable.

My sister by the way, gave birth to a beautiful girl with a rosebud mouth, just as we said good-bye to the still hungry college group. The college students stopped at the fast food restaurant closest to our apartment to pick up breakfast reinforcements. My husband and I zipped up to the hospital to see the new mom and our first niece.