Well, I find myself sitting in my new, reminiscently dorm-style room in the 700s sector of the Beta building basement on the Stony Point Center complex. I haven't really seen much of the grounds yet. This morning was spent barely functioning after my red-eye flight from Seattle to Newark (have I mentioned that this is my second flight of the year, my second red-eye flight of the year??---I think the Peruvian habit of night travel may have been ingrained in my psyche). Anyway, I had breakfast and met a slew of people and slept through lunch. I unpacked and found that my shampoo bottle top was ripped off somewhere in transit and seeped out of the protective plastic bag and onto the majority of my clothes, so I washed those this afternoon. In doing so, I stumbled upon a book called Radical Hospitality.
It is about the Benedictine Rule of hospitality. It talks about love and a spiritual longing for connection, how simple and secular human spirituality is, and the monastic way of life. It is speaking bounds to me right now; especially the word acceptance. The writer's describe acceptance as a loaded word. it is not just merely tolerating someone else (and their views and life), but accepting them for who they are in this very moment and relishing in that joy. It's funny because I have been trying to come up with a better word for tolerance, a word with a positive connotation, and I believe that acceptance is that word.
The book's introduction also speaks about hospitality, monastic hospitality. It doesn't involve itineraries or programming plans. It is a hospitality that I am already experiencing here at Stony Point. It centers on the idea of being welcoming and available, while maintaining an unforceful nature. I have been asked questions about how I got here, but nothing too in depth. And I have been told more than once not to worry too much about starting work just yet--there will be time for that later. Right now, I should learn some names, and sleep a lot, and get used to being here. Part of me was a little apprehensive that no one had knocked on my door, and I must admit that I had flashbacks to my first two weeks of college freshman year. Nervous, unsure, scared even. But, I took a moment and took a breath. Everyone I have approached has listened to me and asked me questions and were very amiable. No need to fret.
So, that is my very limited view of my first ten hours at SPC.
Stay tuned for more....
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