I am a reluctant entertainer.

I always like the idea of being hospitable.
Inviting people over.
Hosting people in our home.

When we moved to The Old Yellow Farmhouse I had grand expectations of how we would use our home to welcome people in.

But I always had - and still have - a handful of excuses that prevent me from inviting people over often.

Inviting someone into your home is like inviting someone into a deeper part of your life.  Not just the parts you proudly share on social media, but also the messy parts that typically aren't exposed.

The part I'm not supposed to show

It's revealing.
It's vulnerable.
It's nerve-wracking.

But tomorrow we're doing it.

We're having guests over for dinner.

Of course I'm feeling all last minute frantic and insecure.  So, what do I do?  I decide the pillows and throw on the grey couch need to go on the green couch, and the pillows and throw on the green couch need to go on the grey couch.

For crying out loud, the kitchen table STILL has a toy cash register on it, but I'm swapping out decorative pillows.  UGH!

Now mind you, I can't make the house too clean.  I read once somewhere that the nicest thing you can do when you invite a friend over is to not clean your house.  I guess the thinking is that if your house is messier than hers, she'll feel better about herself and her home or something along those lines.

We have to find that right balance where we treat our guests well and make them feel special, but also allow our guests to see the real us.  Flaws and all.

Fingerprints on the bathroom mirror.
A stain in the carpet.
Dust on the entertainment center.
A laundry room full of laundry.
Christmas decor still up in February (ahem).

Being authentic in our homes encourages us to be authentic in our conversations.
Opening up our homes helps us open up ourselves.
Being real about stains makes us more likely to be real about our struggles.

And I think deep down we all long for those friendships where we can be honest about ourselves and our trials, our questions and our concerns.  I hope tomorrow's dinner is a step toward that realness.

But, mark my words, that cash register will get put away.