A few weeks ago, I had some close friends over for dinner. As always when I entertain, I wanted things to be perfect. In my plans, it looked as beautiful as the picture above.

I'm not sure where as women we begin to carry our identity by our ability to serve a good meal, but it seems to be a common thing. My first dinner guest (ever) was a college friend shortly after graduation. I made fettuccine noodles from scratch, cutting them by hand, and dried them all day. The sauce had 4 cheeses, and if I recall correctly, the meal was scrumptious if not crazy over the top. I should have quit while I was ahead.

Since that perfect meal, I have:

-Eaten rice pilaf an hour after company left because it just finally got done

-Taken a friends perfect artichoke dip to a breakfast themed shower (oops) after doctoring up it with "just a little salt". What was the perfect amount of salt at home nearly choked me when I took a bite at the party.

-"Improved upon" my mom's yummy lasagna by adding 3 more cheeses. It ended up overdone, and greasy, and probably the worst meal I've ever attempted. Served to one of the most accomplished hostesses I've ever met, no less. Thankfully, her gracefulness and tact match her hospitality skills.

-Tried to serve hot tea in copper mugs. Which oh so perfectly conduct heat.

And back to the perfectly planned dinner with close friends? I tried to bake and roast in the same meal. (How is this done?) I pre-roasted the veggies and just needed a few minutes at the end to finish them up. But the fish I had chosen was a thicker cut than I had ever worked with on the recipe I was using and dinner time came faster than I was ready for. So I skipped the extra roasting. My perfect dinner with special guests? Undercooked fish, crunchy "roasted" carrots, over-roasted asparagus which had shrunk about 3 sizes, and roasted pearl onions with skin coming off in your mouth as you ate. Followed with over-dilled sorbet. What? Dill in sorbet you ask? Don't start with me. It had potential.

I've had to face facts. 30 years of grabbing food on the go has not prepared me to host in my own home very well. I need some practice. The art of hospitality? I don't have it. Martha Stewart? We're not related.

BUT, I remain undeterred. I will continue to invite, continue to host, and continue to welcome people into my home.

Because 50 years of life have also taught me . . .that it's more about the people anyway.

When I get to heaven, I don't think Jesus will ask me about my burnt lasagna. I do think He will want to know who I loved on earth. I doubt He's thinking right now about the overdose of sugar I put in my last batch of devonshire cream. (Well, maybe now he is.) But he might be smiling because I helped a little girl feel a little more comfortable in her own skin tonight in the 4 and 5's class at church.

The older I get, the more I just want to spend my time hanging out with people. All people. When I was younger, I thought some people were interesting and some people were boring. Now? I know that as humans driven by a need for significance? Sometimes our significance comes (we think) by who we know. And so those who can provide us with significance by association become fascinating to us, because of our need and insecurity.

When I worked at a daycare, even children as young as 18 months were affected by this pecking order. They quickly identified who had the most power, and desired that person's affection and attention the most.

My pastor says, "God chooses our friends." I think what he means by that is that we are called to love the people in front of us. All of them.

Since I started trying to do that some time back, I've discovered that every person is fascinating. Every person is worth having over for coffee. Every person is worth befriending.

And life is so much richer and easier, just loving everyone. Regardless of age, clique, reputation, social status, etc.

I'll keep working on my cooking. And on loving people.

Photo cred: Brooke Lark on Unsplash:

https://unsplash.com/@brookelark

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