While scrolling our most recent family photos, I pause on the ones of Kyle and I. In them, we’re laughing and smiling, even cuddled up in an embrace. While thinking about which one to post, I was immediately struck by how happy we were in the photos, yes, but also how deceiving that could make our relationship seem to others on the outside looking in.

We've had the honor of knowing Sue Moore Donaldson for a few years now and love the simple way she offers encouragement and easy ways to show God's love through hospitality and mentoring! Sue is nothing if not honest and real about how she chooses to share the love and hospitality of God (however imperfectly) with others. We know you're going to love her and her wisdom as much as we do. (We're also giving away a copy of her book Hospitality 101: Lessons From the Ultimate Host A 12-Week Bible Study! See details at the end of this post!)

Because God welcomed me perfectly, shouldn’t I welcome others perfectly?

That doesn't happen. Ever.

I've learned to love the imperfect welcome. With me, it's the only kind, yet God kindly uses imperfect offerings--culinary fails, awkward conversations, and a house with mice and no walls. In spite of my messy self, God does sweet wonders for those extra people at my table. So I keep inviting, anyway. Cooking and hosting, imperfectly--and I love it.

Yesterday morning, I had the privilege of sharing a few words of encouragement to a local moms group that I am a part of. I planned a little something over the weekend, but then I woke up Monday morning to the news of all that had happened the previous night in Las Vegas. Listening all day to updates, I felt a heaviness I just couldn't quite shake.

Thinking again about the morning's conversation with the women and what I would share, I realized that, to me, love and kindness and acts of kindness sometimes feel weak or insignificant in the face of such blatant violence and anger. And it makes me wonder, Does what I do really make a difference?

This past Sunday, our faith community was having a conversation about times in our lives where we had a moment with God that changed us. And as I sat and listened to others share around the circle, I found myself thinking, When has God shown up in my life? 

In my early 20’s I met Jeanne Garison. Jeanne was wise, gracious, funny, and for some reason, loved me. She showed it by pouring her wisdom into me, her time into my time, her life into my life. Living life with Jeanne alongside made all the difference.


I was a new college grad, starting my first whirl into the real work world—single and facing my first career, a new roommate, a new town and a new church family. Not floundering exactly, but needing emotional, practical and spiritual support.

I don’t remember how we first met one-on-one. I do remember sitting at Jeanne’s table, talking and talking, usually a cup of tea in one hand and a pen in the other. (It was good to have a pen when I spent time with Jeanne.) I also remember Jeanne’s response: spoken with a smile, a gentle word, often a chuckle of understanding--never a judgment:

“You know, Sue, this is how it was with my mother.”

“Sounds like you could use help in this area – let me get this organized for you.”

“The most important thing you can tell your students is that God is your most important thing.”

We moved to a new town the summer before I began fourth grade. A shy bookworm, I had stick-straight blonde hair down to my rear, 90s bangs, and an affinity for wearing a Mickey Mouse tunic and leggings. It was summer, so without school to help me meet other kids, I grabbed my trusty Huffy bike and took to the roads instead. Up and down the streets I rode, hair flying in the wind, as I learned my new home. One by one, I counted the blocks and memorized the streets. Sibley. Marshall. Holcombe. Each day, the map in my mind expanded.

It wasn't long before I was looking at Lisa's hamsters, or playing with Rachel from across the street, or buying slushies from Handi Stop and daring my friends and I to suck them down in Lauren's piping-hot attic until we could no longer stand the heat.

I didn't travel far, really, no more than a mile radius in all. But slowly as I learned the streets and the people who lived on them, and began to measure the distance to friends in city blocks, the town became home.

Later, when I moved from the south side of town to the north side, I fell into my old bike-riding routine. Sara was two blocks away, Shayna a short distance the other way, Kelsie up past the schools. Familiarity bred comfort, and that became home.

“So what are you going to do next?”

The question was posed innocently enough by a friend last night after I’d explained about just finishing up helping with a major women’s conference and meeting the final deadline for our book (yay!) last week. 


I immediately fumbled through some things I could be starting this week, when what I really wanted to say was, “I just need to catch my breath.”

But I didn’t. Instead I rattled off another list of things that needed to be done.

Why do I do that to myself? I pondered later, as I was alone. Why do I let my value be in the things I accomplish? It’s been my vice for as long as I can remember. Finding my worth in what I do, not in who I am.

I am a to-do list kinda girl and I feel worthwhile when I can check things off of my list.

And although, there may be nothing wrong with that—at least not on the surface— there is a deeper need, a drive in me, that says to be valuable, to make a mark on this world, to be seen and noticed and even sometimes loved, you must do. Being is simply not enough.

There are days when hope seems to be in short supply.

This creates a problem because I've realized that I need hope in every area of my life. I need hope when I imagine my future, or my children turning out all right, or my marriage making it to fifty-plus years. All these things require hope. Hope in something and someone greater than myself. Hope that things will turn out in spite of my screw-ups and do overs.

Yesterday we met as a missional community, a group of believers who gather together to share in our journey of the pursuit of God and what it means to live out our faith, and toward the end everyone shared a request that needed prayer. For parents and kids and work. And all I keep thinking is how do we get through this life, these concerns or problems, without hope?

Hope is is much more than good thoughts or conjured-up positive feelings. Hope is the anchor for our soul (Hebrews 6:19) and the buoy for our faith.

This week, let's pursue hope together.

In this season of political unrest and transition, I have had a continual companion in my thoughts and
heart: fear. Fear over the changes that will come. Fear that the wrong person will end up in power. Fear for where our country will end up if we continue to be as divided as we are. Fear of the future.

This morning, after all the hoopla of Super Tuesday, I decided that enough is enough. I’m tired of uncertainty. I’m tired of being afraid. I opened my Bible and reminded myself of these things:

1. God is Sovereign.

Psalm 93:1-2 The Lord reigns, he is robed in majesty; the Lord is robed in majesty and armed with strength; indeed, the world is established, firm and secure. Your throne was established long ago; you are from all eternity.

Nehemiah 9:6 You alone are the Lord. You made the heavens, even the highest heavens, and all their starry host, the earth and all that is on it, the seas and all that is in them. You give life to everything, and the multitudes of heaven worship you.

This past week I came across some unpleasant words and deeds done by some of my son's friends. My initial anger and surprise at their actions made me spend the next several days conjuring up ways in my mind that they should be punished. My husband and I had some honest conversations with our sons over the inappropriateness of his friends actions and ways to safeguard himself from falling into the same thought patterns and behaviors.

Afterward, I found that my anger towards these boys had not dissipated. I wanted to shake them and yell at them for the ignorance they had displayed. As I thought about this Lent and focusing on grace this week, I realized that was the last thing I wanted to extend towards these boys was grace. My outrage had turned to resentment and I didn't want to show them mercy or love.

But hanging onto resentment towards others is no way to live as a follower of Christ. All it took was for me to think back to my own teenage years and the errors I made during that time period to realize, that even though I do not approve of their behavior, they are still deserving of grace and kindness.

This week, let's focus on grace together.

“We are NEVER getting a dog.”