hospitality

She let me have her bed for the week I stayed with them, even gave me her shawl to use as a pillow.  The first night after dinner around the stove, they urged me to go first in the temazcal, their sauna bath, before my sleepy eyes fell asleep.  Isabela mixed the water, hot and cold, for me, so that I wouldn't burn myself, inviting me into the most intimate place of the home and family, where they ease their bones and wash their bodies and give birth to their children.  Each night I was a quiet witness to the affection between this mother and father, their six children and grandson - not understanding a word of their banter, but seeing clearly the laughter and enjoyment as Isabela put her feet up on the stove and lingered with her sons and daughters.  She even ate the misshapen and lumpy tortillas I made. 

There was so much light in this home that only has a candle after dark, among this family who marveled at my headlamp.  It was my first week alone here in Guatemala, only not alone at all, falling asleep each night with the warmth of this family's generosity filling my chest.  They were awake again at 5am early light, he to the fields, she to the weaving, her daughters to the kitchen.  I was supposed to pay for my stay, as it was arranged as part of my work, but Isabela refused to take anything from me when I left. 

Hospitality - transcending culture, material wealth, language.  They took in a stranger, and loved me.  So often I have been the one with a home; to be the sojourner, to receive the gift of hospitality - I am humbled by the abundance of their generosity, startled by the power of hospitality to make way in me for peace and the love of God.