Ode to Ironing

People, places, and food for thought.

Springtime has consistently been one of my busiest seasons, and this one is no different. This week and the last have been a much needed pause from a full house, from guests, from movement. “I’m firm believer that even ordinary things have a beauty and grace to be appreciated,” my friend Isaac says, “why not enjoy what’s in front of you to the fullest?”

With that, I’m finding a new joy in ironing.

Since January 1st the Doçi’s have been blessed with a full house. Abby returned for Christmas and New Year’s, along with a Wheaton friend initially planning to do New Year’s alone (my father would have none of that). J.M. followed, taking to C.S. Lewis and solving the problems of modern male friendship, all while using as much French (or French-sounding) language as we could muster before our brains hurt. J.R. returned for countless more conversations on Catholicism, along with M.K. and his affinity for many cups of coffee. With a scattering of others passing in and out in between, this house has lived well into its calling as a home for many.

The more I ask God to give me new revelation from Scripture the more I’m running into just how much a posture of hospitality makes a home in our heart for trust, humility, and service. Jesus’ first words to those following him in John 1 were to come to the place he was staying. He makes a point to visit Zacchaeus’ home. Rahab is remembered generations later in Matthew’s genealogy for hosting Israel’s spies in Jericho. Abraham doesn’t hesitate to feed and house the three strangers who turn out to be angels. As long as there’s the opportunity to continue to host, I plan to. I’m grateful that TeachBeyond and GDQ have been supportive of this endeavor and are allowing me to spend more intentional time developing this into a more robust ministry and I look forward to seeing where this goes.

Apart from hospitality, I had the chance to visit the UK in February to attend the ARC Forum in London with my dad. The Alliance for Responsible Citizenship is a Jordan Peterson and Os Guinness endeavor to give voice to matters concerning the West. While a lot of time was spent discussing energy prices, AI, declining birth rates and, in Peterson’s words (paraphrased), a “civilizational moment overrun by postmodern neomarxists”, I was especially intrigued by the heavy emphasis and transparent enthusiasm towards Christian values and their role in the success of Western civilization. I can’t help but be a little taken aback- not by the desire for Christian values to be our bedrock per se- but seemingly using those values for our personal gain and self actualization, not for worshipping a God who rightly deserves worship shown in our works motivated by Christian values (does that make sense? I can’t tell). I’m both encouraged by the space to discuss these things, and curious to see what they lead to in the long run for ARC and those it influences.

GDQ had two consultants visit Albania in February and I spent the week taking them around Tirana meeting families, city officials, teachers and school supporters to give them a bigger picture on the people the school impacts, and how our new facility plays into GDQ’s vision and mission for longevity in supporting the growth of the Albanian church. It was a great opportunity to see development/fundraising professionals in their element and get a taste of the kind of questions they were asking and the way they thought about the feasibility of a capital campaign.

Something I didn’t expect to hit me as hard as it did was a return to our old school buildings. As part of painting a bigger picture I wanted to take H.J., one of the consultants, around to our location on Don Bosko road. I haven’t been back since we packed up and left in June of last year, and to see the building where I spent so many years now in disarray was quite the reality check. Nothing is permanent, and I’m considering it more and more these days. Sitting on a couch in what was my childhood bedroom and is now repurposed into an office space, I can’t help but picture this same house of mine gutted, empty. Broken windows, a thick layer of dust covering wooden floors rotting away, this same couch infested with mold, a desk better used for kindling… in reality it could happen at any moment, and the world around the Doçi home will keep bustling along. I don’t mean to sound morbid or depressing, but I do think there is a healthy dose of temporality, of preparing for the day when we no longer have what’s in front of us, actually allows us to appreciate what has been gifted to us in this season. The windows from which I can watch the sun paint my neighbors home in a bright shade of orange. A couch that invites you to nap every time you make yourself just a little too comfortable…

An ironing board and an iron.

Know that I covet your prayers, your friendship, and your love.

-Aa

A random assortment of snapshots and faces from my winter.