Let Them Come Anyway

I usually get a pit in my stomach before hosting. Not because I don't love gathering people, but because I want everything to be just so. Clean baseboards. Fresh flowers. Beautifully displayed charcuterie. A home that whispers, "She has it all together."

However, last week, I did something rebellious.

We had company coming, and I let some things slide.

There were unfinished painting projects where the trim met the wall. The flowers on my stoop had crisped under too many sunny days and too little attention. The floors weren't gleaming, and things weren't perfect.

And you know what?

They came.

They laughed.

They ate.

They hugged me on the way out and told me how good it was to be together.

No one walked in with a clipboard to inspect the baseboards. No one commented on the dry petunias or the unfinished trim. What they noticed was the welcome, the warmth, the laughter.

I survived.

I more than survived. I felt free.

Here's the truth: if we wait until everything is perfect, we might never open the door. And we were never meant to live that way.

There's a little "Let Them" theory I keep coming back to. Let them see the flaws. Let them sit at your scratched-up table. Let them come into your life as it is—not as you think it needs to be. The people who matter won't flinch, and even if they do, they'll survive. In fact, they'll stay and ask for seconds.

Let the weeds grow a bit. Let the paint wait. Let the imperfection be visible.

And let them come anyway.