If we’re in Christ, we must remember that our family isn’t limited to those who share our last name or live within the walls of our home.
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They were three months away from having their first child when they invited me to live with them. I was 22, finishing my last semester of college in a new city. Even then, I knew it was a costly invitation. Now, 12 years later and a decade into women’s ministry, I know it’s one thing to welcome someone to live in your home in general; it’s an entirely different thing to invite her in during your most tired and tender days. But that’s exactly what this couple did.
We didn’t know each other particularly well, but they knew I loved Jesus, worked at their church, and needed a place to live. They had an extra bedroom, and to them, that was all the equation needed to make sense. Their home became my home. I ate their food, used their paper towels, and carried their burdens as they carried mine. Before I knew it, their family became my family.
