Come to Dinner . . .

The front hall needs to be scrubbed, and I’m pretty sure there is an extended dust-bunny family living behind the dining room buffet. Someone – me? – needs to clean up the backyard where the dog has been. There are probably cobwebs in the corners of the living room. And while the basement certainly looks better than it did last fall, it’s also not entirely ready for guests.
Still, most of the family will be here for dinner tomorrow evening, and I’m so looking forward to seeing them.
The house won’t be perfectly in order, but then, it hardly ever is. If I waited for that to happen, no one would ever come to our house.
It’s a funny thing about hospitality – it sounds fun, at least until we begin thinking about all the getting-ready part. If we’re going to have guests, we think, we’d probably better clean up this, sort out that -- and before we know it, we’ve talked ourselves out of the whole thing.
Even – and sometimes, especially -- when it’s “just family,” we can be intimidated by what we think we need to do before we offer an invitation. And while it’s lovely to be invited into a well-kept house, it’s even lovelier to be welcomed with warmth and love.
That we can do.
Oh, I’m sure I’ll be picking up and polishing tomorrow, in between the cooking. Because I love my guests, I want to offer them the best hospitality I’m capable of.
It’s just that I know all too well it won’t be perfect. That’s all right. What will be perfect will be the laughter, the visiting, the sharing of an evening.
And that will be enough for me.