A year ago, I was dreaming of having a place of my own. You know, something other than the guest room at your parents’, or your friends’ parents’, or the family you cooked for. What I missed most was inviting people over. I’ve been inviting my home team into the Tiny Apartment often when they’re in the province, but had yet to invite my church family and new friends in the city. I had yet to use my new home as a symbol of peace and rest and celebration.
I badly want this place to be known as a place of peace and rest and celebration. I want to create memories with people here, just as badly as I want to drink coffee in the quiet of the morning here.
The name of the game this season is connecting with people. I’m proud of the way I’ve connected with a new church family, but I don’t reach out to connect with them outside Sunday mornings. I stopped writing letters almost completely, even though my friends and family have not stopped living in faraway places. I’ve been connecting with people for what they offer me – I’m new in the city, I don’t know these people, I’m single and busy – instead of what I can offer them. There’s something not right about that.
So I invited dear friends to my house for soup last Saturday. And another friend for a drink when neither of us wanted to go downtown that night. I haven’t written a letter yet, but I will, because I believe these small gestures make a difference. I’m praying over every conversation and time together, because I believe God uses relationship to change people, and I want to be used for support and encouragement and truth.
I’m not simply stocking up my social calendar and pictures for Instagram. I just realized that saying I have friends is not the same as actually connecting with them. And for me, a lot of connecting with people has to do with my home.