These days, nearly every time I’m alone in the car, I turn on an audiobook and peek into The Beje.
It’s the home of the Ten Boom family, and almost a character of its own in The Hiding Place. In the early chapters of the book, The Beje teems with family life, adventures and illnesses, the merry ticking of countless watches — and in the midst of it all, hospitality.
The soup kettle and the coffee pot on the back of the stove, which I had never seemed to find time for, were simmering again the first week Betsie took over, and soon a stream of postmen and police, derelict old men and shivering young errand boys were pausing inside our alley door to stamp their feet and cup their hands around hot mugs, just as they’d done when Mama was in charge. (Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place, 52).
In those impossibly slim rooms and crowded hallways, I soak in the simple generosity of a family spreading their hands with the love of God.
Years and whole lives have passed since Corrie and her family opened their doors, but I’ve found that same generosity and hospitality over at a place called GraceTable, many times.
I’m honored to be guest posting there today, about the unexpected significance of winter flowers and parcel fees. Come and join me there?
