True Confessions of an Inhospitable Soul
Hospitality?!? Whew! Not my gift!
Not by a mile, if you get my driftÖ
Spontaneous! Whoa there!
Iím breaking out in hives!
Just showing up at my door
Is not a good surprise.
I donít do ďinconvenienceĒ
And I like to plan ahead.
Oh, by the way, God help you
If you get me out of bed.
I like to keep a schedule;
I pencil in my friends.
I have a pristine kitchen,
Itís not the kind that lends
Itself to feeding strangers
Or crumbs upon the floor.
I run to hide the vacuum
Before opening my door.
Oh, look outside! Itís just too badÖ
All those travelers stranded!
Do I have a spare bed?Ē you ask.
Oh, dear, can I be candid?
My house is not set up for kids.
And I canít handle the mess,
Or the sticky, little fingerprints
Of uninvited guests.
Iíve tried to be hospitable,
To work at having fun.
But halfway through the evening
I canít wait till itís all done.
I have such pretty dishes,
On display, inside my hutch.
Iíd like to post a sign on them
That says, ďJust look, donít touch.Ē
I have a friend whom I admire.
She takes in every stray.
Itís funny, when I visit her
I want to stay all day.
She makes me feel so welcome.
Hospitality is her art.
I wish I could be more like her,
Giving freely from the heart.
Her house is cluttered with signs of life.
And nothing seems to match.
While youíre sitting in her kitchen,
She whipping up a batch
Of something that is sure to please
The folks that will drop in.
And while youíre there, sheíll fill you up
And bless you once again.
My friendís filled with such devotion,
Like Mary, for her Lord.
While I am more like Martha,
Fleeing from the hungry hoards!
I am a work in progress.
And selfish I may be,
But, Iím learning from a good friend
About . . . H O S P I T A L I T Y.
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