No Pretty Pictures

Blogging experts say to never put up a post without a photo. Well, I'm doing just that. I'd like, instead, to tell you a little story. It's a story that hasn't ended yet, but a brand new chapter has begun. I can't give you names and too many details in order to protect the characters, but this is a true story. 

A Canadian archaeologist and her husband spent quite a lot of time on digs in Syria. While there, they built relationships with the local people. Hardworking, honest people who wanted only to make a decent living for their families, to sit around a table with friends, to educate their children, to laugh and eat and drink. In peace. 

Then came war. A war that ripped the fabric of Syrian life apart. Safety and security disappeared. There were no more archaeological digs. Food became scarce, safety illusory. Horror grew.

The Canadian couple began the refugee process for this family of several grown siblings and their dependents. One by one the families are coming to Canada. To relief from war, from fear of bombings and brutality.

In November I wrote a post about helping our daughter and son-in-law finish a basement suite. 

I'm so pleased that today, in that tiny two-bedroom suite, lives a beautiful little family. A father, a mother, and two small, very small, children. They have peace. They are surely homesick for what they once knew. They feel alien. They need to learn English and will begin classes in a few weeks. 

When it snowed, the father took his little daughter outdoors and she was enchanted, playing and laughing as snowflakes fell. 

Our children came home from work one day this past week to find that their back yard, once full of lumps and potholes, had been dug and smoothed, and is ready for grass seed. The young father and his brother, also newly arrived to Canada, want to work. They need something to do. And so they did this. 

Our daughter visits the young mother and her children; she goes down for tea and they communicate in broken English, lots of sign language, and plenty of smiles. 

I am proud, oh so proud, of our children, all of them. Our other children have donated generously to help refugees. This pair has given time and space and money to help provide a refuge for refugees.

During the second World War, there are many stories of Christians helping Jews. But there are also stories of Muslims hiding Jews. 

This is not a political post. This is a post about people, real people who are grateful, so very grateful, for a chance to build a new life with their children. 

"I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me." Matthew 25:35

Thoughts on Hospitality

There comes a time, usually 5-6 hours before friends are due to arrive for dinner, when I think to myself, "Why did I want to have company? I'd like nothing better than to sit down in front of the television with a tray of leftovers." 

Then, once I begin executing the plans I've made, I feel much better and look forward to the evening. For me, planning and working ahead is key. One evening earlier in the week I ironed the tablecloth and napkins of vintage linen. 

Things that can be done ahead I do the night before - this time it was peeling and cubing the butternut squash, trimming the brussels sprouts, and making the salad dressing. 

For this particular get together, one friend offered to bring dessert and another brought appetizers. I augmented the latter with a bowl of nuts. Tim takes care of the wine. 

Saturday morning I vacuumed and dusted, and cleaned bathrooms. I would have done those things on Friday but didn't have the energy after working all day. 

I really enjoy setting the table and do that before I begin cooking so I can take my time. This table setting is simple. The photos were taken during daylight, and in the evening, with the lights low and the candles lit, the space was cozy for the six of us. Years ago I purchased a box of tiny brass stars. These I fling over the table in a scattered constellation. They catch the light and are often played with by dinner guests as we chat late into the evening.

I started cooking around 3:00 and had plenty of time - enough to decorate the mantel and set out the nativity set. 

So what was on the menu? To start, a salad with greens, avocado and orange slices, sprinkled with cinnamon candied almond flakes. For the main course, stuffed chicken breasts, potato stacks, butternut squash with brussels sprouts and cranberries, and steamed asparagus. 

Hospitality is something I learned from my mother. Having guests over was a regular occurrence in our home. My mom still entertains regularly. She taught me the value of working ahead and having a plan. 

During our years overseas I had plenty of opportunity to practice the skills Mom taught me. Guests at the dinner table (and breakfast and lunch) were a part of life. They came from the four corners of the globe - Europe, Asia, the Americas, and the South Pacific.

The conversation last night ranged from politics and literature to boating and religion. Lots of laughter. Some teasing. Yes, the food was delicious, and I took extra care last night. In the end, however, it's the people sitting around the table who are most important. Sharing life. A bowl of soup and chunk of bread can accomplish the same meeting of minds. 

After the guests left and Tim and I finished cleaning up the kitchen, I went to bed content with the evening.      

After church on Sunday morning, the same six of us went for a boat ride (not ours). And we enjoyed another meal together in Fulford Harbour on Saltspring Island. Once again, it's all about the people in our lives.

Do you enjoy having guests in your home? What tips help make things simpler for you?

I'll be linking to No Place Like Home, hosted by Sandi of Rose Chintz Cottage.  

Giddy for Summer

Ten friends. A south-facing patio. A warm late spring evening. Good food, good wine, laughter. Conviviality. A recipe for a wonderful time. 

The practicalities involved inventing a table that would seat 10 - this involved a sheet of plywood over our round table, covered with a tarp (so any spills wouldn't mar the future project made from the wood) and a tablecloth. A mix of chairs. Meal prep was shared - we, as hosts grilled flank steak and I made a couple of Potato, Zucchini, Tomato Tians. Others brought appetizers, salad, bread, and dessert. Hospitality made easy. 

We lingered long over tea and coffee. The sun slipped away behind the hills in fading ribbons of pink and coral. We shrugged on sweaters and still we sat. Discussion topics ran the gamut - gardening, human trafficking, summer plans, world affairs, and so on.

June can be an iffy month here - often rainy and cold after hints of warmth in May. The people in the know have predicted a hotter than normal summer for us here on the west coast. Perhaps they are correct and it's beginning now. I'll take it. Gladly. It rarely gets unbearable here where the sea breezes cool the air. 

The irises are blooming in various shades of pale and deep purple. I captured the ones above reflected in the garden mirror. 
  

Poppies sprawl in front of the peonies. I love this pale pink version. The orangey one, glimpsed behind, is a little too orange for me. It will have to go. We're beginning a bed of plants-that-have-to-be-moved along the lower fence. So far, just one hydrangea bush is there. Perhaps the orange poppy would like to keep it company. 

And so summer begins. Oh, I know that technically we're not there until June 21. When the sun shines and the garden flourishes and we can eat outside - that's when summer really begins. It's short around here and I'm planning to make the most of it. Hooray, I say, for summer! Are you looking forward to summer? Or perhaps you dread it, or just endure it?

Thoughts on Hospitality

Cheryl, from Thinking about Home, has been writing a series of posts on hospitality. Today she is hosting a linky party for her readers to share hospitable tips. The subject has caused me to reflect back on my own experiences with hospitality. This post is not so much about tips, as about memories.

I have a house, an extra bed, a place at my table. You need to stay somewhere, or a meal. 

The above words sum up my view on hospitality. There are caveats, of course. Safety is one of them. 

Hospitality was first modeled to me by my parents. Sunday dinners often extended to another family invited home from church. Relatives (of which I have an astounding amount) came to stay for one, two, or more nights in our small home with just one bathroom. Visiting choir members, missionaries, friends, and others often sat around our table or slept in our beds while we bunked down elsewhere. My mother and father made it look so easy - a normal part of life.

When I first married and we set up our home, I was nervous about inviting people over. What would I say? I worried more about the flow of conversation than the cooking or cleaning. Sometimes, it took real guts for me to say, "yes, I can serve dinner to so and so." I would invite someone else for dinner as well, someone who I knew would talk a blue streak and keep the conversation going.

Then we moved to Ecuador. Opening our home was not an option. People poured through our home in a steady stream, needing beds, meals and a place to call home in a far away land. Ecuadorians, Dutch, Germans, English, Australians, Americans, Canadians and many more nationalities gathered around our table and slept in our beds. Some stayed for a meal, others for several months. 

The benefits far outweighed the inconveniences. Our children learned to converse with people from many backgrounds, young and old. We heard stories of far away lands. One Christmas a young German couple showed us how to make folded paper stars. An American visitor gave us a wonderful recipe for chocolate cake, and started us on the habit of eating popcorn, apples and cheese for Sunday night suppers. Our youngest guest was a newborn baby boy whom we brought home from the hospital and kept until his adoptive parents arrived.

The hospitality continued when we moved back to Canada. A young man from Spain, here to learn English, taught us how to make paella and Spanish tortilla. A young girl who needed a safe place, a boy who had no family in Canada, friends of friends, and so on.

For the two years we lived in Parksville where we had few guests other than family. And I found myself becoming anxious again about guests. Like any art, hospitality, when practiced, becomes easier. The less I think about myself and the more I focus on my guests, the more fun it becomes. Not that I fuss too much, rather, I try to make our guests comfortable, asking them questions about their life, thinking about what they would like. Most people are happy to talk about their home. 

Problems have been few. Sometimes, when the stay is longer, a few rules need to be enforced. But we have experienced nothing but respect from those we've hosted. 

Hospitality is one of the things Jesus encouraged. I've been reluctant at times, and resentful sometimes, of all the work. But more than that, I'm thankful to my parents for showing me how to be hospitable, and I know that we have been so blessed by all the people we've come to know. I wanted our home to be a place where people are restored and rested, a haven, but also a place from which to go out and face life's challenges.

Visit Thinking About Home for more posts on hospitality.

On Hospitality

Rothenberg, Germany, 2009

 Through a series of far-flung connections, we have hosted, for the past two nights, three young men from Germany. All three are engineering students at the university in Dresden and are visiting Canada for three weeks. 

While conversing with Martin, Marcus and Toni, I thought about how quickly time passes and how momentous events shape lives for years afterwards. Each young man is from a small village in the former GDR or East Germany. They were born shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the collapse of Communist Russia, and the reunification of Germany. They have heard their parents tell stories of life in the GDR.

Toni's parents own a butcher shop. It's been in the family for 100 years. Toni is studying electrical engineering. He told me, "I want to try something different. I can always go back to the shop, but I want to try." Because of the events of 1989 - 1990, he has an opportunity that would have previously been denied to him. He and his friends can travel freely.

The young men asked us for suggestions on what to see here on Vancouver Island. Recorded history is young although the First Nations people have been here a long time. Our son-in-law was with us for dinner and gave our visitors a lot of good ideas. We suggested East Sooke Park, our favourite place to hike. 

One of their first questions to us: "Why do Canadians like fluffy bread?" They were quite horrified at the kind of bread available in the supermarket. This morning for breakfast, they devoured an entire loaf of homemade whole wheat bread. "It's not German," they said, "but it's pretty good." 

After coming home last night they shared that they had purchased Twinkies at a Seven-Eleven and thought them absolutely horrible. I've never eaten a Twinkie but just looking at them and reading the list of ingredients is enough.

They wanted to swim in the Pacific Ocean. We warned them that it would be cold. They couldn't believe how cold it really was. One said his skin burned for hours afterwards. They also wish to swim in a glacier-fed river in the Rockies. They are in for another shock. 

Polite and well-mannered, curious about Canadian life, they spoke English well, but when it was just the three of them, they spoke German. Hearing their softly spoken give and take, I was taken far back in memory to visits with my great grandparents who never learned English. The cadence of the German tongue is one that many do not consider beautiful, yet my memories of it are filled with love that transcended words I could not understand.

Hospitality: The friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers. 

I'm glad we said yes to these German visitors.