Hi, I’m Debbie. Welcome to my monthly letter from the intersection of family, faith and authenticity: the joy, tension and paradox I find between the mystical and the mess.
Hello friends,
Today I head away on retreat to Iona with Fiona and ten other wonderful women. The weather forecast looks favourable, I have moved piles of clothes into the backpack and some of our guests have already begun their pilgrimage towards this tiny West coast island. I’ve been preoccupied with the preparations and wanted to explore hosting here with you.
When we moved back to Glasgow, and after I had come out of the newborn haze of baby number 2, I found myself in a yes season. I joyfully filled my life up with commitments that I liked the sound of, pottering through life with my two wee boys. In those years I found myself on a team hosting community dinners, I studied to become a breastfeeding peer supporter, and I trained with Peaced Together through my church (a creative program for women with weekly crafts and prompts for discussion on hope and beauty). These opportunities helped me notice and name my love for gathering and holding space for honest togetherness.
Hosting begins long before the event.
On a group retreat, there’s the opportunity for both solitude and community. I have been making badges for our retreat attendees, to wear to communicate (without words) if they want some time in silence. It has been a delight for me to play and make something with my hands. You can see my attempt at island style pebbles above. As I’ve made these I’ve thought of the women who are coming to join us, wondering who they are, what they like, how they might receive this. If you come to my house for lunch I will think of you as a place the cushions on the sofas (again), as I chop carrots and season soup. I think of you, wondering what we might talk about, wondering how that interview went, or if the baby is sleeping any better. I'm already holding you in my heart.
Hosting is about connection.
This is not the hospitality of matching napkins and unchipped crockery (although I have my aspirations!). It is toast, biscuits from the cupboard, a toy chosen for your son. Being offered a space in someone’s home or event is most meaningful when it’s simple and authentic. This is what I remind myself when the old story of imposter syndrome scrolls past. Who am I to lead a retreat/ hold a soul space/ gather a group? I may not be a learned expert, but I can promise that as I tidied, and glued badges I was already thinking of you. I host partly because I know that I need these spaces for connection, community and contemplation, and I believe I’m not alone in that need.
Hosting is not about perfection.
At one of the first Mum’s Retreats I hosted for my church small group I remember stepping out of the room because I felt like a phoney - how could I seek to lead others from this place of questions and doubts? The image that landed with me, and sustained me was one of a sunflower, continuing to turn her face to the sun. I may not feel I have answers, but I know my soul seeks the Divine. I offer space as a fellow wanderer, another sunflower in the field.
I have had a couple of friends visit our home for the first time recently. On both occasions I became excruciatingly aware of the clutter, the stains, the lived-in fact of our rooms. Yet on both occasions they met my space with delight. What I viewed as lived-in were infact signs of life, evidence of the vitality of our family home. It is our presence that is significant, not perfection.
Gatherings create a ‘temporary alternative world’ as Priya Parker tells us (I’ve spoken about her work here before)
I don’t host people at my house because I’m a magnificent cook. It’s because I want to make room to share and fleetingly dwell in this place of togetherness.
The spaces that I get to host are varied: one to one spiritual accompaniment where I listen and walk alongside the soul journey of another; Soul Sessions and other group spaces where the connections within the room are significant; and retreats like this one to Iona today. I don’t offer and hold these spaces as a perfect expert, but as a neighbour, a fellow human. As Fiona always signs off, I’m ‘on the journey with you’. When whispers of perfectionism reel in my mind I remind myself of this. I will use my hands and heart and head to shape and host the space as best as I can. I’ll be present as my authentic, messy self for our time together, and then I’ll notice what I’m left holding after:
May you have the eyes to see
That no visitor arrives without a gift
And no guest leaves without a blessing.
from For A New Home, by John O’Donohue
With love,
Debbie