Our world is so funny.  We have technology that can unite us across the globe, yet for some reason people are feeling isolated.  Depressed.  Disoriented.  Disconnected.  Making me feel …

Disgusted.

I remember the day like it was yesterday.  I walked into a room where over 20 adults were waiting to do a research study.  We were getting paid to taste test pizza.  Only in America!  They hadn’t called us in yet, and everyone was crowded around.  There wasn’t a seat for me to sit down.

I recognized a former teacher friend of mine across the way.  She smiled at me, and I said, “Hey” to her.  We connected immediately and began catching up.  Nobody else spoke.  It was just the two of us talking.  The entire room was engrossed in their phones.  Or maybe pretending to be engrossed in their phones.

I wonder … How many companionships could have been made?  How many connections could have happened?  What two strangers could have found a fun friendship—even a friendship lasting the two and a half minutes we had together outside.  But no.  Nothing.  They all just played on their phones. 

Creatures of habit.

Has America lost its ability to have a conversation?  I must admit, there are times when I don’t even know what to say to my own wife or my two boys.  We stare at each other in the same room periodically, but I am playing Mini Golf King on my phone.  My wife is on Facebook.  My boys are on Fortnite.  Nobody is talking. 

Well, my boys might be talking.  Something about lagging or discussing a strategy to take out their opponent.

Yeah, we are far from perfect.  We live on a cul-de-sac, and even though we know most of our neighbors, we rarely entertain or have people over.  Now part of that is that our chihuahua becomes a possessed demon dog when meeting others, but part of it is … umm … maybe our comfort zone? 

I am unsure. 

I cannot remember the last time we had a neighbor over for dinner.  Or if we ever have for that matter.  We are blessed to have two amazing next-door neighbors on each side of our house.  Stan and Kathy let us use their pool on hot days.  Shawn and Heidi entertain a TON on their beautiful deck.  We love them, but we have never entertained them.

Why?  Once again, I am not sure. 

There is something wrong here.  It makes me wonder how many people know their neighbors.  I mean, REALLY know their neighbors.  Like having them over for dinner or dessert.  Or feeling comfortable enough to talk on the front lawn.  Do you know your neighbors’ hearts?  Their passions?  Dreams?  Fears?  Would you know if your neighbor was struggling doing life?

I don’t.  Not sure why.

I met Tom a few weeks ago.  Tom is older.  He wears a Panama hat and hits golf balls in the field beside Frontier Trail.  I love golf.  Let me rephrase … I love cheap golf.  Hitting balls there is free.  So, one day I joined Tom in the field there.  But I didn’t know his name yet.  We kept our distance. 

But alas, he was walking toward me!  Was he going to start a … conversation?  I walked to my ball.  He kept shuffling in my direction.  I tried to think of a funny thing to say, like, “Can I play through?”  I had my line ready, but he beat me to the punch.

“What are you doing on my golf course?” he asked jokingly.

I smiled and said, “Well, I had a tee time.  I booked it yesterday.”

“But you’re not allowed on my side of the course.”

“Oh, I didn’t know this was a course.  I thought it was a field.”

I liked this guy.  We quipped back and forth well.  He was kinda funny.  Old enough to be my dad.  You could tell I was probably the first golfer to join him there in weeks.  We had this thing that some would have shied away from.  Or even tried to avoid.  It was called a random conversation.  And he initiated. 

Guess what?  I was GLAD he did!  I saw him there the next time I went.  We talked again.  I found out his name was Tom.  Tom loved talking about the US Open.  I watched the last half hour of it on Father’s Day.  Dechambeau had pulled it off.  Tom felt bad for McIlroy.  So did I.  I had to go get my son from weights.

But I returned to find Tom the next time!  We talked about the Ryder Cup this time.  It is a golf thing if you didn’t know.  That is not the point.  The point is that we were going deeper.  Getting to know one another’s thoughts.  Tom was knowledgeable about his golf history.  So was I.  We connected.

It was weird.  After that third visit with Tom, I actually sought him out the next time I went to the field to play.  But he was gone!  I searched left.  No Tom.  I searched right.  No Tom.  I searched after walking the neighborhoods for a half hour.  No tom.  Darn you, Tom!  Maybe he was actually playing on a real course? 

Not sure.

Hospitality has become a lost art.  It is more than just entertaining people for meals.  I would define hospitality as connecting with others.  Going out of your way to know them on a deeper level.  Serving them in one way or another.  Maybe it is providing a listening ear or asking questions to get to know someone better.  I have opened my heart to that this past week, and I have to say, it has been pretty cool!

John is in my men’s Bible study.  He seemed like a nice guy, but we had never spent time together outside of group.  So, we created it.  I met him for lunch at Carmen’s Cocina.  We just enjoyed an hour of conversation, getting to know one another.  I enjoyed it.  So did he.  I invited him along to another group I am a part of called F3.

F3 stands for Fitness, Fellowship, and Faith.  It is a group of men who meet throughout the week to challenge each other through physical workouts but also pray for each other and sometimes do breakfast afterwards.  Everybody gets a nickname when you start coming.  Mine is Hooked on Phonics.  John’s name is now Venus. 

Williams that is.  John likes tennis.  After throwing out all these tennis players’ names, the lead guy chose Venus.  Lucky John!

But John and I walked together for an hour.  We learned amazing things about one another.  I learned he was pretty much a new Christian, which makes me desire to take him under my wing a bit as a Christian mentor.  I mean I do have about 10 years on John.  My boys are older than his kids.  And I began to see him picking my brain to find out more about this Christianity thing.

Then there is Tony.  Tony and I get each other.  Tony is ANOTHER member of our Saturday morning Bible study group.  We did dinner a few weeks ago at Arby’s and met up at Wendy’s for lunch this past week.  Tony is amazing.  We started texting each other outside of group more often.  Just to check in on each other.  It was pretty cool!

As this 48-year-old tries to navigate life, I am realizing that the Lord is quietly whispering to me.  It is okay to start random conversations.  It is okay to get to know someone and be a bit vulnerable with them.  It is okay to shake the hand of a Vietnam veteran and thank them for their service.

I did that once.  I do it a ton actually, but nothing was like the day I met a grizzled old Vietnam vet named Michael.  I shook his hand at 7-11 up the road in February of 2022.  We had a quick conversation.  Michael told me an amazing war story!  So much so that I asked to exchange numbers.  Maybe we could get together again sometime.  He was game for it.  We texted that night and made arrangements.

Michael has visited my classroom on three different occasions.  He has been a Veteran’s Day speaker for my students twice.  I have met him for coffee and lunch numerous times, mostly in the summer, and I texted him the moment school got out for me.  The timing was impeccable.  He had just totaled his car and lost his license.  The poor guy had a brain seizure while driving.  I swung by to pick Michael up next week to do coffee.

He had a neck brace on and walked gingerly out to my car.  I had never been to his house before.  We did coffee again, but this coffee date was different.  Something happened.  Maybe it was the way he looked at me with those sad eyes that said he needed help. 

“I’m just not doing well, Clint,” he admitted.

I felt this urge to boost his spirits.  As a matter of fact, I had started writing about him that morning on pure instinct.  I looked him in the eye and asked him a question.

“Michael, can I write your story?” I asked delicately.

His eyes watered up.  He looked touched.  His heart seemed to melt.  Through a raspy, choked up voice, he said, “I think I’d like that.” 

I got to work right away, sending him an introduction to his story that I had started that morning.  He emailed me back, saying, “You got started quick!”  The thing was I knew he would say yes.  The guy had a story worth sharing.  Three weeks into summer, my story is now 41 pages complete with a Title Page, Table of Contents, Introduction, tons of chapters, and even a Bibliography—not to mention numerous pictures from his life.

I cannot wait to write the next chapter about Michael’s career in the Navy.  Other chapters are forming in my head.  I don’t even know if I will try to publish this book or if I will just write it for Michael himself.  What I do know is that it has become a total win-win for us both.  Michael gets to tell stories to me, and I get to put them into words.  He is a master storyteller through words.  I am through writing. 

This is quite a lethal combination. 

I have been hinting that having Michael over for dinner would be a fun treat for the whole family.  I met his wife, Kristi, last week when I interviewed Michael at his house.  She is a former schoolteacher who sells used clothing online, and we connected.  I would love to invite them both over for supper.  Grill out some burgers and just conversate. 

Is that a word?  I think it is.  It doesn’t have a red squiggly line beneath it. 

Kristi needs to be in Michael’s book.  I need to give her an official interview.  Not sure if it will be the night we have them over for dinner or another time.  Whatever God wants.  But I hear His whisper about opening our table to them.  How can I tell God no?  That wouldn’t be smart at all. 

Hospitality starts at the dinner table.

I guess we need to make a few preparations first.  We have to clean our carpet.  Having three dogs makes it fun to try to keep up with pee stains.  And there is our demon possessed chihuahua to kennel upstairs.  We should probably make sure the yard is mowed, trimmed, and watered.  Heaven forbid these two guests to see our house in such awful shape! 

Would they judge us?  Doubt it.  But for some reason we still think they will.  Or maybe it is this innate desire to look perfect when perfection is completely unattainable.  Once again, it is the world we live in.  We see all these perfect houses, perfect people, perfect lives thrust at us through different media we inhale.  That is why The Middle is one of my all-time favorite shows to enjoy. 

That family might be the most real TV family I know.

Our sermon on Sunday was about hospitality.  It hit me square upside the head.  Like a load of bricks.  Our interim pastor, Pastor Randy, said that hospitality is not about how good a cook you are or how beautiful your home is, but rather simply the carving out of time and space to interact with others.  That makes it sound so simple!  He wrapped up his sermon with a 30-day challenge …

Complete one act of hospitality a day for one straight month and share your experiences to stories@lcc.org. 

I am going to try this.  Why not?  I don’t feel like it would be too overwhelming if you define hospitality the way Randy did.  I mean, we are not entertaining dinner guests every night for 30 days.  It could be taking time to ask the Walmart checkout lady how her day is going or meeting a friend for coffee or taking your son out for ice cream.  Heck, it could be saying hi to that neighbor you never talk to when you get the mail. 

No big deal. 

(To view Pastor Randy’s sermon, clink the link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TzWXWhYSjw&t=11s)