At nine-thirty last night the bell outside the wall rang, and when we opened the gate a petite Japanese girl was standing there, suitcase in hand. It was Yoshiko-san, who had given us several years of faithful service in our Tokyo home. She was on vacation from school and had made a special trip down from Kyoto to stay with us. The guest room is always made up, so it was no problem to get down a clean towel and washcloth, fluff up the pillow, and make the little guest comfortable.
It wasn't until later, while I was putting the finishing touches on my Japanese Sabbath school program, that the full and lovely implication of her visit struck me. I realized then that she had felt free to come to us at night, unannounced, with the certainty that she would be welcome. It made me feel very happy.
It also recalled to my mind another experience of some years ago that has left a deep and permanent impression on my mind. I was twenty-two, and with a baby and a big house to take care of in the small town where we had our first pastorate, I felt pretty busy. Oh, we had company for Sabbath dinner frequently, and I was always able to bake a pie or a dish of beans for the socials, but as for overnight company—well, there wasn't a suitable guest room, anyway.
It was almost dusk when the old car came up our driveway. Its driver was middle aged, tall, with a kindly and gentle demeanor. I have forgotten his name in the years that have elapsed, but I have not forgotten that I sent him, a man who was engaged in denominational work, back down that dusty road to the next town some thirty-five miles away without even giving him supper.
My husband looked at me quizzically as the three of us stood at the door. The stranger, hat in hand, said gently, "Your house looks like a small hotel sitting back here among the trees." "It's—it's not really so large," I murmured. "There are only two bedrooms." He bade us good-by then, and I went back in to give my little boy his bath. Remorse filled my heart almost immediately. I wanted to run after him, to call him back and make up the couch in the study, if necessary. But it was too late. I, who had the privilege and responsibility of being the wife of a minister of God, had sent one of His servants out on a dark and dangerous mountain road rather than exert myself for his comfort!
What Is True Hospitality?
Since that evening I have learned many things about hospitality. I am sure that nowhere in the world are there found more charming hostesses than the shepherdesses who in the midst of their busy schedules find time to make comfortable the weary wayfarer and passer-by. In the mission field we have many opportunities for observation. I have seen how busy women organize their programs so that the feeding of anywhere from ten to thirty extra is done with that marvelous ease that typifies a well-regulated home. I have seen friends made by the score. For who, after eating at his host's table, sleeping under his roof, joining in his family worship, does not count himself a friend?
Hospitality does not necessarily mean a sumptuous feast. A simple meal served in pleasant and friendly surroundings has more meaning for a weary traveler than any dinner, no matter how deliciously served, in the glare of the neighborhood restaurant.
Not long ago a well-to-do doctor and his wife stopped by Kobe during their tour of the Orient. We had been gone all day, and of necessity the evening meal was very simple. My cheeks were a little warm as I set the repast before the guests—potato soup, sandwiches, tangerines, and cookies. I need not have been concerned. The homemade-bread sandwiches disappeared like magic, along with the soup, and there were even several kind remarks made about the humble oatmeal cookies! The whole meal was flavored with. interesting and enlightening conversation on the part of these well-informed people, and we were left with the distinct impression that a great gain in friendship had been made.
We Should Be Known as Hospitable People
Shepherdesses, what a wonderful heritage is ours to have the privilege of making comfortable the stranger who is far from home! Wherever we are—Singapore, Berlin, Tokyo, Los Angeles, or deep in the wilds of South America—the extra bed or couch can always be ready, and the table enlarged for that extra plate or two. As a precedent we have the many beautiful stories of Bible hospitality—Abraham, who would not let the strangers leave without preparing them a meal, the room kept in readiness for Elisha, the humble home in Bethany where the Saviour was always made welcome.
I have been reading a fascinating book on the first ladies of our country, the women who have stood by the side of our presidents. It was interesting to discover that long before George Washington became the first president of the thirteen struggling colonies, Mount Vernon was noted for its hospitality. A herd of more than one hundred cows was not enough to supply butter for the table! Should not the leaders of God's remnant church, as well as the leaders of our country, be known as hospitable people? How much more comfortable we will feel around that great table in heaven, knowing that there has always been room for visitors at our tables down here.
Some of us may feel that our qualifications are painfully lacking. Our fingers may falter a bit on the piano keys, and our voice, raised in song, may not be all that we would desire. Our little ones may prevent us from doing a great deal of visiting outside the home. But nothing can stop those same fingers from skillfully preparing a tasty meal, and that same voice raised in a greeting of genuine welcome is a sweet sound indeed. That home wherein we spend so much of our time can be a haven for God's people.
Let us joyfully continue our happy heritage of hospitality. And if you happen to be passing through Kobe, Japan, please feel free to stop by and spend some time with us, won't you?
