I stink at hostessing. It is not my gift. This has been clear to me for a long time because I grew up in the home of an incredible hostess. My mom loves hospitality and takes such joy in entertaining. She sets a beautiful table, handles all the details and makes it seem effortless. She is the kind of woman who has a mini coffee maker and flavored coffees in the guest bathroom for when company comes to spend the night. These are things that would never occur to me. This last Thanksgiving we hosted friends and while I did manage to make a ham, I didn’t remember to slice it, so I just set the giant hunk of meat on the table in front of our guests and let them figure it out. Not my finest hour.

For a long time I have been able to hide my terrible hostessing skills because people would invite us over instead of me having to have them. But now having six kids means we don’t get invited to places very often. I don’t blame people. We are kind of a circus and nobody is quite sure how to handle us (bless you, people who are brave enough to invite large families over for dinner, for yours is the kingdom of heaven. . . or something like that). This means we now have two options: never socially interact with adults or learn how to have people in our home.

Before You Give up on Hospitality   www.herviewfromhome.com
Photos by Rebecca Tredway Photography

So because I am not ready to just give up on all adult interactions, I am trying to learn to reframe what hospitality looks like for me– a mom of young children. I am learning to accept my own limitations and embrace doing what I can do. I may not ever be the kind of hostess my mom is, but what is it that I can offer the people we want to share life with?

I’m learning to appreciate the unique skill set I’ve developed over the years. We worked for five years as group home parents to mostly teen boys (usually 6-8 of them) which means I basically hosted a dinner party for an extremely ravenous group every night of the week. We may not have had a lovely centerpiece or classical music in the background, but I KNOW how to cook a pot of spaghetti that will feed a crowd. I’m not phased by big, noisy groups and I’m happy when people feel at home and relaxed. I’ve learned not to stress about muddy shoes or spilled coffee or a broken dish. This is the price you sometimes pay for sharing your home with guests, especially young guests. As a foster parent, my job description has literally been to make a stranger feel like my home is their home. Why did it not occur to me that this is the basis of hospitality?

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Hebrews 13:2

Before You Give up on Hospitality   www.herviewfromhome.com

Moms of young kids know how to express love by overlooking tomato sauce on the carpet. We have perfected the fine art of not crying over spilled milk. We have learned that if someone rejects what we serve, that doesn’t mean they don’t love us. We know that sometimes we feel most at ease when eating off of unbreakable dinnerware in someone’s backyard rather than having dinner served on the fanciest china at the dining room table over white carpet. We can take these more realistic expectations about life and home and hospitality and let other people enjoy our relaxed attitude. It’s a gift we can give to fellow parents in the trenches who would desperately love a night with other adults, but feel stressed about taking their own mini circus on the road. We can offer them the understanding that we ourselves need to feel when we come into someone’s home.

For too long I have felt like being a perfect hostess was a way to determine the value of my womanhood. Not being able to fold a cloth napkin into a swan meant I wasn’t quite a grown-up yet. I hadn’t reached the pinnacle of womanhood that was waiting for me. I have been holding off on hosting things because of these unrealistic and unhelpful expectations of what my life was supposed to be like and look like before I invited people into it. No more.

Hostessing doesn’t have to be perfect. My version of womanhood is still womanhood, even if it looks different from somebody else’s. And I think when people see the ways I stink at hostessing (whether that’s the hard water stains on my glasses, or the *gasp* BOXED cake mix on the counter, or my unsliced ham) it may empower them to try their hand at it, too. Nobody who has had coffee at my kitchen table with my kids playing underfoot would feel intimidated out of inviting me over to their house.

Before You Give up on Hospitality   www.herviewfromhome.com

Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. Romans 12: 9-13

I do think there’s an important place for the gifts of my more talented and perfectionistic sisters when it comes to hospitality and hostessing. I love attending a bridal shower with tea cups, finger sandwiches and scones somebody made from scratch. I love coming into a perfectly clean house with vacuum lines in the carpet and a candle burning in the bathroom. The time and intentionality shown in that kind of care speaks volumes about the love that hostess has for the people coming into her home. It’s an act of service I value and it instantly puts me at ease (seriously, PLEASE KEEP INVITING ME or I will get sad).

It has been helpful to me to talk to the women in my life who are great hostesses and hear the compassion they express. They have told me they didn’t host things for a long time when they had little kids. They tell me not to feel guilty if I can’t make things run perfectly when I have company. They remind me that this season is short. They tell me if all you can do is offer popsicles to your guests, that still counts. They invite me over and have grace for my family.

I once went to a book club held at the home of a friend who had raised 7 kids. She had a beautiful home and I always felt both comfortable and honored to be in it. This particular week as I dropped my purse by the front door, the sun shone just right on the entryway table and I saw my friend had used her finger to write “Welcome” in the dust. There can be a relief and a joy about being welcomed into a home by someone who isn’t stressing out about the dust on the table. For those of us whose homes may not look exactly the way we want, may we learn to embrace our lives as they are and not be afraid to invite others into them– dusty tables and all.

The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace:  whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. 1 Peter 4: 7-11

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Maralee Bradley

Maralee is a mom of six pretty incredible kids. Four were adopted (one internationally, three through foster care) and two were biological surprises. Prior to becoming parents, Maralee and her husband were houseparents at a children’s home and had the privilege of helping to raise 17 boys during their five year tenure. Maralee is passionate about caring for kids, foster parenting and adoption, making her family a fairly decent dinner every night, staying on top of the laundry, watching ridiculous documentaries and doing it all for God’s glory. Maralee can be heard on My Bridge Radio talking about motherhood and what won't fit in a 90 second radio segment ends up at www.amusingmaralee.com.

Your Kids Don’t Need More Things, They Need More You

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Mother and young girl smiling together at home

He reached for my hand and then looked up. His sweet smile and lingering gaze flooded my weary heart with much-needed peace. “Thank you for taking me to the library, Mommy! It’s like we’re on a date! I like it when it’s just the two of us.” We entered the library, hand in hand, and headed toward the LEGO table. As I began gathering books nearby, I was surprised to feel my son’s arms around me. He gave me a quick squeeze and a kiss with an “I love you, Mommy” before returning to his LEGO—three separate times. My typically...

Keep Reading

Mom, Will You Pray With Me?

In: Faith, Motherhood
Little girl praying, profile shot

“Will you pray with me?” This is a question I hear daily from my 9-year-old. Her worried heart at times grips her, making it difficult for her to fall asleep or nervous to try something new. Her first instinct is to pray with Mom. Perhaps this is because of how many times her Dad and I have told her that God is with her, that she is never alone, and that she can always come to Him in prayer and He will answer. Perhaps it is because she has seen her Dad and I lean on the Lord in times...

Keep Reading

My Aunt Is the Woman I Want to Become

In: Faith, Living
Woman with older woman smiling

It’s something she may not hear enough, but my aunt is truly amazing. Anyone who knows her recognizes her as one-of-a-kind in the best way possible. It’s not just her playful jokes that bring a smile to my face, her soul is genuinely the sweetest I know. I hope she knows that I see her, appreciate her, and acknowledge all the effort she puts in every day, wholeheartedly giving of herself to everyone around her. When I look back on my childhood, I see my aunt as a really important part of it. We have shared so much time together,...

Keep Reading

A Big Family Can Mean Big Feelings

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Family with many kids holding hands on beach

I’m a mother of six. Some are biological, and some are adopted. I homeschool most of them. I’m a “trauma momma” with my own mental health struggles. My husband and I together are raising children who have their own mental illnesses and special needs. Not all of them, but many of them. I battle thoughts of anxiety and OCD daily. I exercise, eat decently, take meds and supplements, yet I still have to go to battle. The new year has started slow and steady. Our younger kids who are going to public school are doing great in their classes and...

Keep Reading

Motherhood Never Stops, and Neither Does My God

In: Faith, Motherhood
Daughter kisses mother on cheek

I’m standing in the shower rinsing the conditioner out of my hair with a toddler babbling at my feet, running through this week’s dinner menu in my head. “Hmm, this meal would be better suited for this day, so what should we do instead?” or “Maybe we should save that for next week since it’s easy and we will be busy with baseball starting back up. I can work something in that may take more effort in its place.” Being a wife and mother, running a household, it’s about the small moments like this. There’s something about it that is...

Keep Reading

So God Made a Sunday School Teacher

In: Faith, Living
Woman sitting at table surrounded by kids in Sunday school class, color photo

God looked around at all He had created, and He knew He would need someone to teach His children. So God made a Sunday school teacher. God knew He needed someone with a heart and desire to teach children God’s word. God knew the children would act up and made Sunday school teachers with patience and grace to guide them when they step out of line in class. He also made Sunday school teachers with a touch of discretion to know when the stories of a child may be real or imagined. God knew this person would need to be...

Keep Reading

But God, I Can’t Forgive That

In: Faith, Marriage
Woman holding arms and walking by water

Surrender is scary. Giving in feels like defeat. Even when I know it’s the right thing, yielding everything to God is scary. It also feels impossible. The weight of all I’m thinking and feeling is just so dang big and ugly. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes I cling so tightly to my fear I don’t even recognize it for what it is. Bondage. Oppression. Lack of trust. Oh, and then there’s that other thing—pride. Pride keeps me from seeing straight, and it twists all of my perceptions. It makes asking for help so difficult that I forget that...

Keep Reading

Dear Dad, I Pray for Our Healing

In: Faith, Grief, Grown Children
Back shot of woman on bench alone

You are on my mind today. But that’s not unusual. It’s crazy how after 13 years, it doesn’t feel that long since I last saw you. It’s also crazy that I spend far less time thinking about that final day and how awful it was and spend the majority of the time replaying the good memories from all the years before it. But even in the comfort of remembering, I know I made the right decision. Even now, 13 years later, the mix of happy times with the most confusing and painful moments leaves me grasping for answers I have...

Keep Reading

God Redeemed the Broken Parts of My Infertility Story

In: Faith, Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Two young children walking on a path near a pond, color photo

It was a Wednesday morning when I sat around a table with a group of mamas I had just recently met. My youngest daughter slept her morning nap in a carrier across my chest. Those of us in the group who held floppy babies swayed back and forth. The others had children in childcare or enrolled in preschool down the road. We were there to chat, learn, grow, and laugh. We were all mamas. But we were not all the same. I didn’t know one of the mom’s names, but I knew I wanted to get to know her because she...

Keep Reading

God Has You

In: Faith, Motherhood
Woman hugging herself while looking to the side

Holding tight to the cold, sterile rail of the narrow, rollaway ER bed, I hovered helplessly over my oldest daughter. My anxious eyes bounced from her now steadying breaths to the varying lines and tones of the monitor overhead. Audible reminders of her life that may have just been spared. For 14 years, we’d been told anaphylaxis was possible if she ingested peanuts. But it wasn’t until this recent late autumn evening we would experience the fear and frenzy of our apparent new reality. My frantic heart hadn’t stopped racing from the very moment she struggled to catch a breath....

Keep Reading