I will never get over the fact that doing dishes takes, like, 5 minutes.

My brain is still filled with a conception of time that is based on being sick. When you’re sick, and have zero energy, basic tasks take F O R E V E R.

When just stacking the dishes and filling the sink with water makes you tired, household chores become herculean tasks.

When you have to marshall every fiber of your being to accomplish a task, that task takes up so much time and mental energy.

Clock-time may be constant, but our personal orientation to time can change.

Unlearning my old conceptions of time has been part of my healing journey, and will continue to be a challenge moving forward.

Old limits don’t apply to new me.

On Tuesday evenings, I sometimes host a group of ladies in my home. As part of our commitment to each other through the church, we carve out dedicated time to come together to talk about things that are on our hearts.

The space that we create together isn’t just my living room, but a loosely-but-tightly knit weaving of intentionality.

Space to share, and be vulnerable. We are each heard, prayed over, and sometimes given advice.

This is time to rest, and recover. It’s time to process, time to grieve, time to celebrate.

We carve out this space, and this time, for each other.

I try to make my living space a welcoming place. Plants, soft lighting, beautiful textiles.

But really, what makes the space is the people.

And the love we have for each other.

One thing that I love about being part of the Christian family is that no matter how much or how little you know someone, you always have something in common.

The trust you can feel—almost palpably—shaves months off the ‘getting to know you’ process. For me, at least.

Hospitality isn’t simply a sparkling service experience, or a well-manicured home. It’s the time, and the support, and an open environment created by people gathered for a purpose.