My home is rather central in the Northern California valley. Seems like there’s always a wedding to attend or a close-by relative to visit, or a monument to check out. I am home-base for out-of-towners. Plus, like stretching, sheltering wings, their paths lead them to cover me. “Let’s stay with Kath.”

Not all that long ago I didn’t know how I felt about guests. Visitors meant preparing, cooking, ensuring someone else’s comfort.
Whoosha! Wasn’t I the one in need of comfort? How does a low tank fill a tank?

But Bill’s voice, ever speaking his preference in my mind, would say: “Babe, this will be great. I’ll help you.” He would help. He was the best host— from pointing out the towel closet to providing a TV remote lesson. Oh, and touring anyone interested (or not) through the house, corner by corner. He was the ultimate welcome sign.

So, with his prodding, I have begun to paint my own sign. Even though, this is not my strength, guests, one after one, build my strength. And I have made a discovery. My friends don’t mind my failed pizza, my sleepy eyes, or my telling my story— again.
The even bigger discovery is that somehow they comfort me. They raise the tank level. What I thought might drain, replenishes instead.

My God is amazing. He is changing my inclinations. He is strengthening my weakness. He is bringing me comfort through drop-ins!

The sign is out. It says I welcome comfort.