This is for the reluctant hosts

bringing back friends over for coffee, and coming to terms with the home you have

my kitchen floor

How did we get here?

My husband Sterling had said, “I’d rather live on 1 acre in the country in a trailer, than live in town another year.” Within a few months of him saying that, this acreage came available for us to buy through a couple at our church.

We had planned on remodeling and adding additions to the house on the property. The acreage had a single-wide trailer and the old farmhouse. With all the extensive updates planned, we figured it’d make more sense to move into the trailer house for starters.

So, with a quick one-week remodel to the trailer (mostly remodeling a bathroom for cheap and updating flooring in the bedrooms) we unpacked and moved in. We were moving from a 4,000 sq. foot house to an 840 sq. foot trailer. I wouldn’t say we have a ton of stuff but… there are eight of us. I was standing at the trailer house doors directing the movers (our kind friends) to where boxes and furniture should go and I kept turning them away saying, “to the shop!”

Clearly, Sterling had told them one thing and I had in mind another. He didn’t want his shop space taken over by all our household items, but I knew that very few of our possessions would be fitting comfortably here. It has felt like a battle of the Rubbermaid bins since then, bins moved from this shelf to that, bins brought to the mudroom, then to the pole barn, and back to the mudroom again.

The first winter here was rough; I was not happy to be here. By the time Christmas came around, huge icy snow drifts surrounded our trailer making me feel completely closed in. There were mice to trap, and for one anxious week, a rat. I don’t share this for anyone to feel sorry for me; I’ve done enough of that myself.

I was thankful that we finally had an acreage after talking about it for years. But still, I was not okay with my current house, and this prevented me from inviting people over. The times we did have anyone over, it was only because Sterling invited them, or they were close enough friends that they invited themselves. We were only supposed to be here one winter, and one winter turned into two. As of today, we have lived in this trailer approximately 559 days. In my experience, things rarely happen the way they’re supposed to.

A few weeks ago, the topic of hospitality and community was discussed at my local MOPS group. A mom at my table asked, “What happened to just having someone over for coffee?” She had a good point. People aren’t doing this as much anymore for whatever reason: Covid, social media making us feel connected when we’re not, busy schedules. I heard myself say, “Yeah, I used to do that, but my single wide trailer hardly has room for just my six kids.” Of course, no one argued with this.

However, it didn’t sit right when I said it. And it didn’t sit right when I thought about it on the drive home that night. Do I get a “pass” on hospitality because my house is too small? Do I get a “pass” when we’re in our new house but “fill-in-the-blank” is unfinished? I couldn’t ignore the feeling that my mindset about my home needed to change.

Photo by Rachel Pfenning

Reluctant hospitality

Within the next couple days, plans were made, and invites sent out. I reached out to a few friends of mine because I knew this plan needed support if it was going to work. This is how Coffee @ Cat’s started. I’m now having women over weekly for coffee throughout the Spring and Summer. Kids are welcome, and bigger kids play outside (on the dirt hills, where else?)

I didn’t want to do this—what I mean is, I wanted it to be at your house. Yes, your house with the espresso machine, awesome backyard, with the fun basement for kids and beautiful living room décor. You, with the outgoing personality who can make others feel comfortable right away and say the funniest things.

I want community though. I want to share laughs over coffee with friends and get to know other moms around me better. I want our kids to run around outside, working out their energy and their social skills (does sword-fighting with fallen branches count?) I want to swap recipes and encourage someone in a hard season. I want all those relationship-building things that don’t often happen on Sunday morning following the sermon, or in those brief interactions at the library storytime.

Community also doesn’t happen in the context of social media where we watch each other’s curated lives in the comfort of our own home and at our own convenience. The loneliness-fighting kind of friendship or dish-washing support doesn’t happen there. Because where is “there” anyway?

I want to see your un-mopped floor

Where it might happen, I hope and pray, is around my kitchen table-- over a cracked linoleum floor from the 70’s that hasn’t been mopped enough. I was reminded of this yesterday as I sat with 7 other women for coffee and tea. Some of them bouncing babies on their laps, and a lot of apples passed out to toddlers. Somewhere around 5 littles were inside, while 15 or so big kids ran around in the dirt outside. At one point I looked out the window to see a few kids taking turns running straight into a large bale of hay. I don’t know why and I haven’t asked my kids about it yet. It seemed they were just being…kids.

Even as an introvert, I crave this kind of gathering. The kind where the kitchen is open and there’s no showing up late for the program because there is no program.

In a time that offers modern wonders for a mother to get it all done without having to leave her minivan, where is this kind of connection? I don’t take it for granted when you have me over to your house for coffee and I sure don’t take it for granted when you show up to mine.

Maybe we can take a look at what we have and see what God can do with it. Maybe…forget about the way things were supposed to be.