As we pull into the driveway of our house, I hurry the kids inside as typical Icelandic winter winds attempt to whip us away from our destination.
Stepping into the foyer, my eyes quickly survey the coats and outdoor clothing tossed around. I tell my children to tuck items into corners, at the very least, so they are not tripped over when others arrive. My husband grabs a broom to sweep up the black sand trekked in from our gravel driveway. I head for the kitchen, opening the fridge to gather items to form a feast of sorts: homemade pizza reheated in our beloved air fryer, tortilla chips for the baked buffalo dip I will make from leftover chicken, cucumber sticks to add to the spread, and licorice-infused chocolate bars broken up for a sweet touch.
It’s Sunday and my daughter begged us to invite a new friend over from church. Her parents are, of course, invited too. A couple that has just moved to town is welcomed to come along and so is the visiting pastor who spoke this morning’s message.
We have nothing prepared and yet we have everything we need.
A feast formed to welcome others to our home, our table overflowing.
Sometimes the meal is more prepped and planned. Everything is listed out so that I won’t forget a single thing. I spend all day preparing the foods I hope will give others a taste of the birth home I miss. And perhaps they will feel at home here in my forest-green house too.
I ask questions about food allergies and preferences so that, as guests have told us before, they feel safe and nurtured when they come to our home. I know the struggle of making sure my kids can eat food that will not make them sick or breathless. There is joy in placing a plate of tangible love before someone, food made safely and specifically for them.
A table overflowing with care and intention, a safe place for all sorts of hearts to land.
Sometimes it is a drop-by, coffee and yesterday’s cake pulled out. Or a quick serving of sweet fried plantain because it finally ripened just in time. Or perhaps we share the bacon-wrapped pepper my husband prepared—laughter on faces as we attempt to eat that heat and not cry in the process. Anyone who sits at our table is invited into another layer of community as they peel back the layers of my southern biscuits that house the scrambled eggs and turkey sausage I’ve learned to create.
A table overflowing with heat and warmth and invitation to cry real tears as needed.
Some of my favorite moments are little children shyly asking for permission to rummage through my snack drawer, their smiles stuffed with the fruit snacks we never seem to be without. Or the way that little hands seem to always knock on the door right before it’s time to partake in coffee and freshly baked muffins from the kitchen counter.
No matter the format, each time our door opens in welcome, I hope that the food our hands form, cook, and release feed more than physical hunger. I pray that what overflows from our table also feeds hearts, lingering with supernatural intention through the available vessel of my family’s welcoming attention.
A table overflowing to fill up and overflow to those who come.
Every moment of hospitality carries the seed for something more. Maybe that team of young gospel workers will never again cross our door, but they will leave knowing that in this land, in that moment of eating traditional lamb ribs, they were seen and loved. Perhaps the coffee and cake won’t lead to instant change, but we pray that each neighbor knows that at that moment they were seen and loved.
A table overflowing that flows into our families too.
When feelings of doubt or fear try to press in, I hope my kids remember the noise of dishes rattling and measuring spoons clinking in preparation to scoop out the right proportions for weekly pancakes or homemade pizza. I hope they recall the sifting and stirring as muffins are made—one base, three different flavors— and the sound of dough kneaded against a wooden board, a foundation laid for something warm and good that will fill the bellies of those I love. Those God sees and loves.
We can be tables overflowing where we are, not because of what we have, but because of the one who fills us. Maybe we don’t always feel like we have everything prepared, but in Christ, we truly do have everything we need.
How has your home or table been a place of overflow for others?
This resonates so much with what the Lord has been showing me lately. Thank you for giving us a peek into the beautiful work God has for all of us of caring, seeing, loving, serving, and listening.
You are so welcome! Hospitality has become a bigger part of our rhythm, and my role, as each year passes. I’m thankful for how we can use what is in our hands to impact people in a big way. Thanks for sharing your comment!