by jphilo | Aug 1, 2011 | Church Newsletter Columns
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,
for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.
Hebrews 13:2
Riding a bike is one of my not favorite things. Being outside on a hot July day is another of my not favorite things. Along with sweating, being windblown, sleeping in a tent, and using a port-a-potty. So when the Des Moines Register announced that our town would be an overnight stop along the July 2011 Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa (RAGBRAI), I was underwhelmed. In fact, my exact thoughts ran along the lines of Oh great, there will be 30,000+ crazy people in our town overnight, followed by If I lie low, maybe I can avoid contact with them.
My strategy worked perfectly until two weeks before the big day, when a neighbor asked if any RAGBRAI riders were staying with us. If not, four friends of their friends were looking for a place to spend the night. Were we interested? Suddenly, the first answer that came to mind – No, we’re not interested in having strangers crazy enough to ride their bikes across Iowa in the middle of July stay at our house! – sounded a little inhospitable.
Then I thought about all the families who have invited me to stay at their homes when I travel for speaking engagements. Maybe traveling around the country is one of their not favorite things. Maybe speaking to groups of strangers is another of their not favorite things. Along with hauling boxes from here to there, selling books, and wondering if there’s a booger hanging out of your nose.
Maybe they think I’m crazy. Even so, they open their homes to me. We begin the evening as strangers, but then we start talking and discover common acquaintances, common interests, common heartaches, and common joys. They may still think I’m crazy when we say good-bye, yet they send me off with a hug and a prayer. Surely, after being on the receiving end of so much hospitality, it was time for me to offer some, instead.
Sure, I told my neighbor, send them this way. Turned out, our four house guests were hot, sweaty, windblown, hungry, and tired. But the Davenport natives – a high school English teacher, a school development office worker, and a mental health counselor – and the IT guy from Australia weren’t as crazy as I’d thought. They were young people grateful for comfortable beds, hot showers, home cooking, and conversation in air conditioned comfort.
Hiram and I waved good-bye to our guests the next morning. And I wondered why I’d been reluctant to share God’s riches with strangers in our town, why I had almost disobeyed his command, why I hadn’t trusted his promise in Hebrews 13:2.
Crazy. I shook my head. Crazy how hosting bike-riding strangers has become one of my favorite things.
by jphilo | Jul 28, 2011 | Current Events
Thanks to the four RAGBRAI riders who stayed at our house Tuesday night and sang Happy Birthday to me (per Hiram’s request) on Wednesday morning, my 55th birthday was the hippest jiviest, and g’day-mate-iest ever.
(I know several of you didn’t comprehend a word past “55th” because you’re thinking, “She must be yanking my chain. No way can this woman be 55. She looks so young.” Your astonishment is a welcome surprise, but really, I am 55. And really, you need to track with the RAGBRAI riders story, rather than obsessing about my amazingly youthfulness, so you can become the hippest, jiviest, and g’day-mate-iest person on your block.)
The lesson in hip-ocity began when the last two riders arrived at about 8 in the evening. Now, they were later than the first two women riders not because they were stragglers, but because they rode the 70 miles from Carroll to our fair city, plus the 30 mile loop-of-torture designed for extreme athletes who wanted to add a 100 mile notch to their bicycling belts.
Andrea came to the kitchen first and was assembling her BLT before Matt did. Being both the token male and also the token Australian in the group, maybe he found it helpful to watch the proceedings before eating. Or maybe he was just checking out the cultural landscape. Whatever the reason, he hung back a bit until I said, “This is a self-serve operation. Come on over and get something to eat.”
He picked up a plate and said, “S’wayzee!” (pronounced “swaye-zee” with emphasis on the “swaye”) with the hippest, jiviest, and g’day-mate-iest inflection ever.
Hiram and I looked at the other three riders and parroted Matt. “S’wayzee?”
“Australian for ‘so easy,’” one of them explained.
Another laughed. “We say it all the time now, too.”
“Cool.” Hiram grinned. “S’wayzee!”
We practiced the word several times before going to bed,
S’wayzee,
S’wayzee,
S’wayzee,
working on our own hip, jive, and g’day mate inflection, while hoping our 55-year-old Swiss cheese brains would remember the word in the morning.
Our hard work paid off, and we woke up on my birthday morning with “S’wayzee” tripping off our tongues. We sounded almost as hip, jive, and g’day mate as Matt. But after we waved good-bye to our overnight guests, we almost forgot the word during our morning walk.
Between the two of us we eventually remembered. Then we swaggered home as quickly as we could while maintaining our aura of hip-ocity and jivieness. I hurried to the computer and wrote this blog, preserving our new word for posterity and officially preserving my 55th birthday as the hippest, jiviest and g’day-mate-iest ever.
Being 55 is turning out to be s’wayzee…as long as I write everything down.
