The Hospitality Interruption

 Some people are born with a gift for hospitality. I'm not sure I was born with it — but I was raised in it. Growing up in the 1970s, my family owned a small business, and from an early age I absorbed the culture of that store like a sponge. The customer is always right. Treat everyone with respect. Value every person who walks through the door. Those weren't just business principles — they became the way I saw people. That foundation followed me everywhere. In the mid 1990s, I made a major career pivot and began serving churches as a Business Manager. Over the next 30 years, across four different churches, I kept finding myself in the same role — leading Guest Services. It turned out that everything I had learned about treating customers well translated beautifully into how we welcome church members and first-time guests. My first Guest Services experience was humble by any measure. A small church of about 100 people, a rolling desk in the foyer, and a stack of brochures. ...

Practicing hospitality toward others isn't always easy. Life gets busy, frustrations build, and we find ourselves laser-focused on our own agenda — often missing the people right in front of us. Recently, I was standing in line at Sam's Club making a return when I noticed the woman ahead of me was struggling. The employee helping her was growing frustrated too. The issue? A receipt locked inside an app that kept throwing an error message every time she tried to log in. I stepped in quietly and offered to help. I became the calm go-between, working alongside the employee until we finally got the return processed. Afterward, I high-fived her and said, "Good job." Her face lit up instantly. It's going to happen to all of us. We're on a mission, in a hurry, and something goes sideways. But that day I was reminded that one small interruption — choosing hospitality over frustration — can shift the entire atmosphere of a moment. We don't have to be perfect. ...

  What a chaotic Christmas parade night taught me about grace under pressure It was a last-minute decision. I turned to my wife and said, "Let's go to the Christmas parade." Simple enough. The annual Burleson Christmas Parade in Old Town — what we locals call our downtown area — was the perfect spontaneous plan for a cold winter evening. We parked and made our way toward Old Town central, and that's when it hit us. Miles of people. Kids bundled up in lawn chairs lining the curbs, faces lit with anticipation. Everyone wrapped so thick in coats and scarves they looked like they were headed to the ski slopes, not a Texas street parade. We ducked into the pizza and wings place on the corner. The moment we opened the door — bam. Wall to wall people. A crowd of hungry, cold parade-goers all hovering around the hostess stand, everyone bidding for a table like it was an auction. I squeezed up, put our name on the list, and was told to expect a 20-minute wait. They'd...

Hospitality is about making people feel seen, valued, and welcomed — without expecting anything in return. In one sentence: Hospitality is the intentional act of creating space where others feel they belong. Want to give it a try? Here are 7 Ways to Inhabit the Space You Occupy Value everyone you meet — The next time you're at a restaurant, ask your server's name and use it throughout your visit. It costs nothing, but it means everything. Build real relationships — Get to know the staff at the places you frequent. Remember their names. Let them know they're more than just part of a transaction. Treat everyone the same — Hold the door for as many people as you can. No exceptions based on who someone is or where they're going. Go out of your way — Choose the longer checkout line on purpose. Use that extra time to connect with the person in front of or behind you. Mentor others in hospitality — Model what it looks like. People catch what you do far more than what ...

  Have you ever watched someone scream at a store employee over something simple? Finger in their face, veins in their neck — all over something that could've been fixed in thirty seconds with a little grace. We were in my son's college town for a big parents' weekend. Found a hotel, got in line to check in. Long line. One clerk. My patience was running on fumes. Why is there only one person at this desk? I was already rehearsing what I was going to say when I got up there. Then the chaos started. A man walked in behind the counter, threw his tool belt down, and said — loud enough for everyone to hear — "I quit." Before the clerk could even react, a woman pushed her way to the front of the line demanding the strangers in her room be removed immediately. I watched all of it. And when I finally stepped up to the desk, I looked that clerk in the eyes and said — loudly — exactly what I had planned. Then I stopped. "Looks like you're having a rough day....

  I found it on vacation. My wife and I had escaped to the beach for a week of sun, rest, and the kind of fun that’s supposed to slow life down. But somewhere between the sand and the souvenir shops, we began to notice something that didn’t belong there. At first, it was subtle—easy to dismiss as a coincidence. Then it kept happening. Again and again. Almost everywhere we went. Or so it seemed. Whether we were shopping, grabbing a bite to eat, or renting a beach cart, the same experience repeated itself. It wasn’t the town. It wasn’t the season. It wasn’t even the businesses themselves. It was something else entirely. What we noticed—what we felt —was rudeness. The first encounters happened in a few beach shops. We’d walk in, and the employee would be sitting or standing behind the counter, eyes down, saying nothing. No greeting. No acknowledgment. No eye contact. We were invisible. We browsed the store in silence, wandered past displays, and eventually headed for the door—...

  While the news cameras were focused on the chaos, the crowds, and the heartbreak unfolding on the beaches of South Padre Island this spring break, something quietly extraordinary was happening in the middle of it all. Beach Reach was there. This remarkable non-profit organization showed up — not with judgment, not with an agenda — but with kindness . Pure, radical, relentless kindness. Their mission is as simple as it is revolutionary: extend hospitality to everyone they meet. And the stats? The stats tell a story the evening news will never cover. Thousands of spring breakers were met with care instead of criticism. Van rides home late at night kept people safe. Cold water was handed out under a blazing sun. Volleyball games became bridges between strangers. And in the middle of one of the wildest weeks of the year, real conversations happened — meaningful ones. Prayers were prayed. Lives were touched. This is what hospitality does. It interrupts a rude world! We live in a...