Years ago, the caption beside President-elect Bush's photo on Newsweek's Christmas 2000 issue read: “And Now, the Hard Part.” It echoed my sentiment when we returned to the U.S. from Mexico where we had been part of the Wycliffe Bible Translators' team for almost eleven years. True, it was a difficult seven-day trip to Mexico City with a four-year-old daughter and two-year-old son who had swallowed a whole bottle of baby aspirin along the way and had to have his stomach pumped. True, we had lived for three months in Mexico's jungle in a thatched-roof hut and lean-to where I learned to butcher a cow and lop off chicken heads with a machete. Harder yet were the infections and illnesses that first year, one after another, and later hepatitis that kept me flat on my back for five months. And then there was my first experience riding on a mule for four hours on a wooden saddle with our son in front of me. I was doing quite well until the locals dynamiting for fish spooked the animal and he took off halfway up a steep hill before I knew how to stop him. I also found the group housing hard where everyone knew what everyone else was doing. But we were all in it together; and nothing in Mexico was as hard as coming back to a wealthy Orange County suburb in Southern California where we were assigned to our home office to write Wycliffe books and articles.
We made a decision to attend a nearby Presbyterian church. That was the easy part. The hard part lay with my inability to feel at home in the affluent culture into which I was suddenly dropped.
Miraculously, without savings, we were able to finance a modest home (we had to write a promissory note to make our bid), in a modest neighborhood and furnish it with things from friends, Goodwill and garage sales. Not that I wasn't grateful we could own a home, but the church members who befriended us and invited us into their homes lived in what seemed like mansions to me. I would come home and despair that my furnishings were mismatched with a color scheme that grated the senses. My small dining room table seated only six, and the card table I placed at one end to allow for more seating made for what we came to call “split-level dining.” My dishes and silverware were of the soup-kitchen variety, and the black and faded pink indoor-outdoor carpet only added to my gloom.
Week after week as we visited elegant homes, I became more and more depressed and finally, I refused to offer any hospitality. My pride had thoroughly defeated me. “Who would want to come to our home anyway?” I would say.
As the days passed, God began to convict me whenever I read Scripture verses about hospitality, especially 1 Peter 4:9 where it says to “offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.” And the Holy Spirit used Hebrews 13:5 to remind me that I needed to be content with what I had. I was backed into a corner and knew I had to settle my discontent with my house furnishings, and stop comparing my situation with others who had so much more material wealth.
One morning when all was quiet and I was alone, I went into each room and thanked God for everything I had. “Thank You, Father,” for these sofas.” I'm afraid my first “thank you” wasn't too sincere. I remember the words stuck in my throat as I looked at the faded rust-colored sofa cushions filled with disintegrating foam. (It was so bad that even Goodwill wouldn't take it when we finally were able to get something else!) I tried again. “I'm grateful, Father, that we have something to sit on. Thank You, too, for the odd tables and lamps. Help me to accept them as from Your hand, and be content. And I'm grateful we don't have a dirt floor and that there are drapes on the windows. Help them to hold together until we can get something better.”
Then it was into the bedrooms to thank God for the beds. “Ours is pretty shaky, Lord. I don't think it will last too long, but I'm thankful we don't have to sleep on the floor.”
When I was done, I felt light. The black cloud began to lift and I knew I was on an upward climb. Not that I didn't have battles now and then with envy, but now I knew what to do. Thankfulness chased it away. I began to offer hospitality again, as our many filled guest books attest ⎯ so many, we now joke that if you want to stay at the “Steven Motel” you had better make your reservations early!
Over the years we've been able to replace the carpet, drapes and furniture, and today our home is much more pleasing; but I'm still always amazed when guests come in and say, “What a lovely home!” especially when I've been in their beautiful homes. Early on I learned a secret from a guest who, after exclaiming we had such a nice home, looked around somewhat puzzled and announced, “I know what it is. It's love! I feel so much love here.” We still had our ripped drapes, dark carpet and mismatched furniture, but she didn't even notice them at first. She taught me that a love-filled home covers over a multitude of interior decorating flaws.
I think this is part of the meaning of 1 Peter 4:8. Love not only covers over a multitude of sins, it also covers over mismatched furniture and dishes, over all our comparisons with others whom we feel are better cooks, better looking, better speakers, better hostesses, singers, etc.! Loving others and loving God with all our hearts, souls, minds and strength will defeat the comparison trap before it defeats us. And now the hard part is to keep this truth always in front of me!
~ By Norma Steven. Norma and her husband are retired missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators after 45 years of service in Mexico and the United States. She is the author of four books and many articles. She is currently involved in prayer and care ministries at her church. She and her husband have four children and ten grandchildren and reside in Santa Ana, California.
