Visitors

Even though Teammate Tif tried to clear out the colony, Robert found one forlorn straggler looking for “home.”

What is the most unusual occasion for hospitality you have had? Up until this week I would have said that for me it was a four day period while we were living in Tlapa, Guerrero. My Daughter was just one, and we lived in a one room house, with curtains dividing us from her bedroom (she slept in a playpen) and our own. In the mornings, when Daughter woke up, she would pull the curtain aside with great aplomb, huge grin on her face, to make sure we were ready to get up with her. (Today she does not quite face mornings in the same way.) Connected to the house was Husband’s shop, a room with a dirt floor, an open shower stall that drained into a tub to be emptied in the outhouse (also hid by a curtain that flapped open when the wind was too strong), and our kitchen sink. Two newlywed couples that visited us on separate occasions even used the shop as a bedroom, with a mattress thrown over Husband’s workbench for the occasion.

One morning I awoke to hear a scratching sound on the floor, right next to my bed. When I sat up, I saw an eight inch centipede wandering around down there. Scorpions were one thing. But this was, like, out of Lord of the Rings. I stuck a can over it and waited for Husband to take care of it. My hero. I still shudder at the memory of that house guest. Then on another day I was playing with Daughter next to the front door, a half door with the top swung open, and one of the neighbor ladies stopped by to chat. She glanced down at the floor, “Is that a new toy for your daughter?” 

Right. It was an enormous, live TARANTULA! I grabbed Daughter and ran into the back room, yelling, “ROBERTO, ROBERTO” at the top of my lungs. He wasn’t in the shop, so there was only one more place to look, and I was now yelling, “I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’RE DOING RIGHT NOW—I NEED YOU IN HERE!” My hero.

But the most unusual opportunity for human hospitality was when a dozen or so Mixtecs showed up at our door asking to stay with us for a few days until they could take the bus to wherever they were going next. I did not know these people—had never met them. They were friends of friends. They showed up with straw mats and beans in tortilla dough, wrapped in leaves, for their meals. I offered them floor space in the shop, but they refused. They slept outside on their mats (the weather was warm), in groups, and ate sitting on the ground. All they would take from me was water. They only showed up at night to sleep in a safe place and went about their business during the day, and in four days, they disappeared. I am glad they considered us a safe place. We were a safe place for many people who just showed up like that. You, friend, could show up on my doorstep, and I would welcome you and find you a place to sleep and a place at the table. Mexican hospitality requires this. Ok, it’s not easy, especially for an introvert, but I figure you might be wearing angel wings I can’t see.

I’m not so hospitable to guests that sting or bite. Or make nests in my clothes. Teammate Tif took her tablet to my house to video, live, the clothes on my shelves, so I could pick out a few things for Husband to bring back now. To our dismay, as she opened the last cupboard door, ants spilled out. I could see them, on the camera, crawling around, carrying their big white eggs. Tif’s voice remained very calm as she almost dropped the tablet, and was completely grossed out. Me. I’m just glad they were water ants--not fire ants--big, yes, but harmless. From experience I know they destroy fans and printers and clothes by mucking things up with ant eggs and dirt, but they don’t bite. How generous of them (the Spanish website my friend Samuel sent me called them downright altruistic. Hmmm.) So these are my most unusual (and unwanted) house guests so far. Robert says that’s what happens when you leave a house unused: you get critters. He says God lets this happen to remind us not to let things just sit around. Like empty bedrooms or empty places at the table. He says we should all be letting God stretch us to practice more Mexican hospitality. If we don’t, I don’t know. Will we one day open up a closet and find that those altruistic Mexican water ants have come to pay us a visit? Or will we open the door and find an angel on the doorstep, disguised as a neighbor we don’t know all that well? Will there be room at the table for those invisible wings?

Abraham's visitors with invisible wings