Come In, Anyway
Writing your very own Gracious Invitation
Sarah Skinner, Kaleidoscope Institute, June 2025
Come in friends, welcome to our weekly tea time. Where I pour you a cup of gospel-tea. Some good news. But, what's really lovely about this tea time is that we're here together. And tonight, I'd like to offer you something a little more practical.
Can I teach you how to write an invitation, Kaleidoscope style? We're really, really good at it.
What I'm about to teach you is gold. You can use this to put on the largest, fanciest gathering. BUT. That's not why I'm giving this to you tonight.
I'm giving this to you because my hope is that you'll host your very own tea time. A real gathering. Maybe a potluck. I want you to be held by friends.
Lately I’ve been noticing that people long to gather, but hesitate. We want connection, but our houses are messy, our calendars are full, and our hearts are tired. We scroll past dinner party photos with a strange mix of yearning and dread. The truth is, many of us have forgotten how to invite someone over—or we’re afraid we no longer know how.
This reflection is for those of us who still want to say: come in, anyway.
I still remember sitting at my not perfect dining room table, a kid's sticky jelly hand print between me and my friend, and she said, "thank you for letting me come over."
Opening my door to community was vulnerable, and one of the best things I've done. Letting my friends see my imperfect, busy self? Everyone's boats a little different, but it's good to remember that we're all in the same storm. And in inviting people over, I found the friends who stayed.
Will you stay through through storms and sticky hand prints?
That's the start of an invitation. And invitation is something the Kaleidoscope Institute can teach you to do well.
Here’s a gentle guide to help you create your own invitation rooted in hospitality, honesty, and neighborly love.
Step-by-step Instructions:
1. Pick a name for your event.
Choose a name that’s welcoming and makes space for diverse experiences.
Example: “Neighborhood Potluck”
2. Name the goals, purposes, and processes of your gathering.
Why are you hosting? What do you hope will happen?
Example: The goal of this gathering is to bring neighbors and friends together for a fun evening and to get to know one another.
3. Write a few “We will…” statements that align with your goals.
This helps set clear expectations for what people can look forward to.
Example: We will each bring one dish. We will gather hoping to leave knowing each other’s names—and maybe our pets’ names, too.
4. Who are the invitees?
Example: I want to invite some neighbors who haven’t been to my house yet.
5. Name potential fears or hesitations your guests might have.
What might keep someone from saying yes? Be real and empathetic.
Example:
– They might be worried they’ll be asked to do something, join a group, or take on more work.
– They might feel they don’t have time to cook or don’t know what to bring.
– They might just want to be comfortable—at home, in their jammies.
6. Write some “We will not…” statements to directly address those fears.
You can write different versions for different audiences if needed.
Example:
We will not ask you to dress up. My couch is your couch. Come as you are—in jammies, in T-shirts, or maybe you’ll still be in your work clothes. That’s okay. During the hurricane, we wore mud. This is a gathering for presence, not perfection.
7. Name a shared value that supports your invitation.
This could be a scripture, a poem, a quote, or a simple shared truth.
Example:
Let’s gather under the shared hope of being good neighbors—people who value shared food more than polished appearances.
Sample Gracious Invitation:
This Sunday from 5–8 PM, my couch is your couch. Come over for a potluck.
Bring your favorite dish—or just bring yourself. Come as you are.
Super busy? No problem. Drop by for a bit, even if you can’t stay long.
We’ll wrap up by 8 PM either way.
And if you can’t make it this time, we’ll do it again.
Our house won’t be perfect.
We won’t be doing dishes while guests are here—and neither will you.
This is a paper plate kind of gathering, where we get to know each other’s names,
and maybe the names of our pets, too.
And if you're wondering whether the Holy shows up even when the floor is sticky… here's what the Holy One whispered when I asked if should worry about the dust:
A Note from the One Who Knocks
I have dined with widows in crooked houses, been welcomed by rebels with shaky hands. I do not need linens. I do not mind dust.
I knock where the lamp still flickers, where the air smells of onions and hope. Where the door sticks in the frame, and someone leans their weight into it to let me in.
I do not seek palaces. I seek bread, broken. And the kind of silence that follows laughter.
If you would welcome me, know this: I will sit on the arm of your couch if the chair is covered in laundry. I will bless the crumbs.
I will leave joy on your doorstep like a basket full of lemons and light.
What Changed Me
I live in Western North Carolina, and the reality of Hurricane Helene is still very present. But, for me, one good thing that came from Helene, is that I know my neighbors names, and even the names of their pets. During the hurricane, we didn’t have time to clean. There was water on the floor, but I was lucky to be able to see my floor, so I threw beach towels down and when my neighbors came over, that was their red carpet into my home: damp beach towels. We gathered wherever we could—porches, backyards, and in my town the community playground was untouched. For those of us with mostly functioning houses, we opened our doors. My house is full of laundry, dishes, dogs, and children. And still, we opened the door.
That changed me. I started letting people come over when the floor was sticky. Ew. I started trusting that presence mattered more than perfection. And strangely enough, it did.
When I run past my neighbor's house and her little pug barks at me, I enjoy waving at her and telling little Peanut hello! He's my neighbor, too.
A Blessing to Send With Your Invitation
May your home be a haven, not a museum.
May your door creak open often.
May your presence be enough.
May your crumbs be holy.
From Sarah and the Holy One she writes with, for all who are wondering if they have to be perfect to be present.
Author’s Note
"Will you help pass the basket for Kaleidoscope?
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Wonderful. Thank you for such a welcoming message.