As we step into a new school year, I keep feeling this quiet, gentle invitation, not to rush ahead or set bigger goals, but to slow down and make room. Room in our hearts, our rhythms, and our homes. Room for the Lord to dwell with us again and again.
As I have been writing a new book, I’ve been thinking about where hospitality truly begins–not at a beautifully set table or in a full calendar of events, but within us. Scripture says, “The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us” (John 1:14). Before we ever opened our lives to Him, Jesus first made room for us. He came close. He moved into the neighborhood. Hospitality starts right there, with simply receiving the incredible gift of Emmanuel, God with us.
I’ve noticed in my own life how easy it is to focus on the output: loving others well, serving faithfully, welcoming people into my home, but if I am not careful, I find myself quietly neglecting input–stillness and quiet with Him, time in His Word, soaking in His presence. I want my love and service for others to come from delight, not duty, and I’m learning that can only happen when I am first able to receive God’s delight in me. When I skip that step, everything feels heavier and harder than it should. After all, as John reminds us, “we love because He first loved us” (1 John 4:19).
For me, receiving looks very simple and very imperfect. Most days, it means getting up before my kids so I can sit with the Lord, reading Scripture, journaling, and praying. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s not. I have early risers, so I keep books nearby and do my best to stay present with God even as they pile around me on the couch. And on days when the morning feels crowded, I try to find time later in the day to take a walk alone or with a friend who gently points me back to Him. Attuning to the presence of God doesn’t have to require a serene moment; It can be on a walk with my kids biking just ahead, or a moment in the car when I choose not to turn on music but just sit in the stillness. In the quiet middle minutes of my day, I am learning to breathe, to listen. I recall a verse I’m memorizing. I let myself be aware of God’s nearness.
I’m learning that God often speaks softly. When I fill every quiet moment, even with good things, I can miss out on being aware of His presence. So I’ve started looking for quiet, noticing when my soul needs an exhale. In the stillness, I sense that God is glad to be with me. And somehow, that makes me more glad to be with the people He’s given me.
Making room also means making hard but good choices. I love full days and shared meals and saying yes. But when my calendar is packed with back-to-back events, I feel it in my body and my spirit; it will leave me depleted. Sometimes I need to say no to something good so that I can say yes to time with God. There’s no formula for this, just attentiveness.
A friend reminded me recently that every yes is a no to something else. I’ve felt that deeply in hard decisions, like turning down opportunities I longed for, or being selective about travel and teaching, even when those things are life-giving in many ways. I never want to say yes to so many good things that I unintentionally say no to being with God, or being attentive to where He has me.
And here’s what I keep coming back to: when we make space for God, we naturally make space for others.
Hospitality that flows from a rested, attentive life feels different because it doesn’t come from our performance or entertainment but from our presence. Jesus showed us this by living in community, sharing meals, walking slowly with His disciples, and inviting them not just to follow Him but to be with Him. And now, by the Spirit, Christ lives within us, shaping the way we welcome others into our lives.
Sometimes that will look very practical, such as keeping an easy meal in mind, having snacks or tea stocked in our cupboards, leaving extra margin in our days so we can say yes to someone stopping by.
I’ve found that lives kept too full rarely have space to welcome others in.
This year, what if the goal wasn’t to do more or to add anything to our list? What if this year was an invitation to simply make room, to clear space, to prepare our hearts quietly, to let go of what crowds our attention? To become more aware that Christ is already with us.
As we begin this new school year, I’m wondering:
What gentle invitation might God be extending to you?
What might you need to let go of, or say no to, to make room for more of His presence?
Can you imagine Him whispering this simple invitation over you this year: Make space for Me, so that you can make space for others. I am glad to be here with you.
May our hearts and lives be open, and may they become places where Jesus is seen, felt, and known by everyone we encounter.