"Can I come for conversation?"

"Teacher, can I ask you question?" The voice is quiet, and hesitant.

I look up and smile at M. I've helped her a couple times after class with doctor's forms and mail questions, so I expect that she has some kind of paperwork for me to look at. She doesn't.

"Teacher, can I come to your house sometime for conversation? I want speaking English good, and my home no one help me."

I'm delighted—"Of course!"—but surprised. M. is one of the shyest students in the higher level class where I volunteer. She is picking up English really fast, but she isn't convinced—she rarely offers an answer even when she's right, and she speaks so quietly it's often hard to hear what she's saying.

Most of the students in that class are either from Bhutan or Vietnam. M. is not—she's from East Africa, and no one else in the class speaks her first (or second) language. Most of the students have large extended families and a fairly strong community here. M. does not—she is here with only her elementary-school-aged son, who is gone all day at school and various after school programs. She doesn't have a job. She can't drive a car. She has, I think, one cousin somewhere nearby.

She's lonely.

I'm so proud of her for asking to practice English with me.

She stopped by my house once, because we needed to use my computer to renew her state ID. I'm glad that she felt welcome enough that she wants to come back. I'm glad to have her into my home, and to have this opportunity to show love to her, and—hopefully—to become friends.

I'm also somewhat terrified.

I barely feel competent at small talk with other English speakers. M. is not only a non-native speaker, but a shy one. I have no idea what we're going to talk about.

I'm an introvert. "Hospitality" is a concept I have struggled with my whole adult life. I love people, and theoretically I really like having them over, but—when it comes down to actually doing it—I get super stressed about and exhausted by the whole thing.  It embarrasses me how stressful I find it, in fact.

Add the cross-cultural dimension, and I stress out even more. Is she expecting a short chat or a four-hour visit? Visits usually involve food—should it be a full meal? Which foods, again, does her religion forbid? Is it her culture that gets really offended by X? Or is it if you don't do Y? How much should I make this visit about "learning American culture" and how much should I make it about "meeting cultural expectations" so she's comfortable? And seriously, what are we going to talk about?

When I was deciding whether to move here, to live with refugee neighbors, I knew that inviting people into my home would be important. Hospitality is a really big part of most of these cultures, and even without that, it's a very normal step in relationship-building.  For me, though, it was definitely on the "not my strength at all / fills me with vague terror" list.

While I was praying through it, I was convicted about something: I tell myself that I get stressed out because I really want my guests to feel comfortable, and to have a good time. What I'm actually stressed about, though, is my guests' perception of me as their host—whether they will leave thinking about how awesome I was at making them feel at home, or leave thinking I failed. 

It's a subtle but vital difference. One is guest-focused, one is me-focused.

I also know the only way I can let go of that need to focus on myself and others' perception of me is to be firmly rooted in the truth of who I am in Christ—the truth that I don't need others' approval, the truth that I am known and accepted by the Person who is great enough to speak the stars into existence and intimate enough to know them each by name, the truth that he is my glory and the lifter of my head, the truth that his power is made perfect in my weakness, the truth that I am not big or important enough to ruin his plans, and the truth that he loves me completely in that smallness.

Unfortunately, it seems to be a slow process. I repeat truth to myself, but I still often fear. I have had moments where the greatness/intimacy of God and my security in him have been so obvious, I wonder at my fear—moments where "what can man do to me?" actually is the completely rhetorical question it's meant to be—and then the moment has passed and I'm back to craving the approval of people.

So, I am covering these coming visits in prayer. Prayer for M., that that she will feel welcome and at peace and encounter God's presence here, and prayer for myself, that I would rest in truth and love M. instead of worrying about myself and what she thinks of me.

Feel free to join in.