My daughter-in-law sings. It is but one of the reasons we adore her. This week she posted herself singing a birthday tribute to her favorite author, Brennan Manning. The song calmed me, even as I sat with my to-do list staring at me with furrowed brows. 

 

"Come as you are."

 

The message was of Jesus, inviting me with outrageous acceptance. No need to fuss, or tuck my tummy in. 

 

It has been my intention to welcome more people into our home. Not exclusively with the expectation of a meal and tidy surfaces, but including that. The other day a friend stopped by to go over some music. I forgot to offer her tea, but it was sweet to share our voices and chat. It was informal, and imperfect. I loved it. 

 

For something as modest as opening our doors, it catches me off guard how many obstacles come up. 

 

"They are too busy."

 

"Their house is much fancier than mine."

 

"They won't want to come."

 

But sometimes the energy of the intention drowns out the reluctance, and I invite. 

 

I could be wrong but I think for my mother this was commonplace. She would show up at her sister's house with curlers in her hair and help herself to coffee. If her sister was in the kitchen she would pick up a tea towel and help. 

 

But somewhere along the way we got the message to shine ourselves up before we were welcome. I want to make a shift. 

 

Come as you are.