When my parents arrived at my house for their visit on Wednesday night, they were on a first name basis with their Uber driver and my mom hugged him right before he drove away.
I have a vague memory of my parents that has stuck with me for over thirty years. I was young-maybe five or six, possibly even younger. I remember coming into my house from playing and my mom was sharing our dinner with a little girl. I’ll never forget my mom making this girl the biggest glass of chocolate milk. I can’t remember the details but this little girl had run away from a local shelter. My parents gladly welcomed her in and gave her a place to sit at our table.
My parents are like that. They don’t meet strangers, they look you in the eye and talk to you. They always ask questions. They have lots of stories to tell. They are unashamed of their faith and they will gladly tell you the secret to a long marriage is their relationship with Christ. They are funny and quirky. My dad loves to play guitar and my mom loves to cook and make delicious food. They are an example of what it means to welcome anyone and everyone to the table, to their table of life.
They moved from my childhood home a couple of years ago and they are welcoming their new neighbors to their front porch for coffee and Bible studies, they reach out and check on neighbors, they welcome them into their home, to their table.
Everyone has capacity to welcome people into their lives. It looks different for everyone but who are you welcoming to your table? Who do you need to welcome?