The contrast was stark. There was no question that I was a stranger in foreign land. Physically I was taller than everyone around me. Second, my skin was a different color and I did not speak the local language. Additionally, I like to walk and this was a town not made for walking. Nothing was familiar. Even the office setting was uniquely its own. Every fiber in my being was reminding me that I was a guest.
Receiving guests is often a form of artwork. One may have an idea of what to do, however every installation is unique. In this situation, it is hard to express how welcome I felt. An old story reminded me of what I felt like after my first few hours. “The natives went out of their way to be friendly to us. The day was rainy and cold and we were already soaked to the bone, but they built a huge bonfire and gathered us around it.” (Acts 28.2)
In contrast to some of the long term guests that presented themselves as local, the true locals reached out beyond her/his comfort zones to make sure we were ok. They were professional while being willing to make sure we were ok. They were gracious and patience. They were open to new ideas and willing to share their own. The combination of actions and attitude turned a key and opened a door that I had imagined would remain closed.
I often forget what it is like to be a host. I travel enough that I find it comfortable to be a guest. This experience has opened a new understanding. Is being a host more than just an event when someone is visiting my physical space? Are conversations, especially meaningful ones, opportunities to host others that share part of my mind? Are dialogues a period of time where each party plays hosts to each other, working to ensure that the other is safe?
I came thinking that I would offer more than I would receive. I leave filled with a sense of More.
