Make Room in the Inn

My Saturday didn’t go as planned.

I was supposed to be on the road before sunrise, driving two and a half hours to an all-day wrestling tournament. Gas in the tank. Road snacks ready. A long day of bleachers and whistles and waiting.

But at the end of an incredibly full week — with no ornaments on the tree yet, a million things still undone, and Christmas Eve barreling toward us — I dropped wrestlers off at the bus… and didn’t get on the road.

Instead, I came home.
I crawled back into bed.
I slept until 10:00.

When I finally got up, I did the things that had been waiting patiently for me. I opened the boxes from the attic. I went through every single one. Every trinket. Every ornament. Every fragile, memory-filled piece of Christmas. I found the perfect place for the Nativity. I filled every nook and cranny of our tiny house with lights and meaning and warmth.

By mid-afternoon, I stood back and thought, December 13th feels awfully late to be doing all this.

But I was so glad I did it anyway.

Not long after, I got a text from my wrestler: “Mom, is it okay if I bring some of the boys home to spend the night?”

My heart leapt.

I immediately started counting beds like a seasoned innkeeper: One… two… three… four recliners.
Two twin beds.
An air mattress.
The king bed can hold one more kid — or my husband can go get a quiet night at the river house and open up even more space (he doesn't mind... this is like throwing him in the briar patch 😉).

I went to the grocery store with a clean house and a peaceful mind. I bought what I needed for a one-pot chili. I baked cookies. I pulled out mugs for hot chocolate and prepped s'mores for the fire pit. 

When they came through the door — loud, hungry, full of stories about bad refs, close matches, and bus-ride plans — I realized something sacred was happening.

“Grab a bowl of chili,” I told them.
“Fresh towels are in the laundry room.”
“We’ll do hot chocolate and cookies later with a Christmas movie.”

They headed back outside, building a fire pit, four-wheelers buzzing in the background. From the porch window, I watched the glow of firelight and listened to teenage laughter carry across the land. I poured my very first cup of nutty almond cream tea for December and sat still.

Christmas was here.

Not rushed. Not missed.
Not squeezed in between obligations.
It was here — warm, lived-in, welcoming.

And I couldn’t help but wonder…
What if I had gone to the match today?
What if I had chosen there over here?

Would it have been more important to sit in the stands trying to be everything for everyone… or to be fully present at home — ready, open, prepared — when my son walked in the door with friends in tow?

I love that he wasn’t afraid to ask.
He knew the door would be open.
He knew there would be food.
He knew we’d make room — even if it meant awkward prayers over his friends before bed and finding blankets with only floor space to offer. 
But I also love that the Lord knowingly nudged me to do what needed to be done to be peaceful in the 'yes.'

Scripture tells us:

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”
— Hebrews 13:2

We never really know who we’re making room for in our homes. We don't know if we are entertaining an angel... Or kid who just needs a little extra attention... Or our own friends and family.

Every Christmas, I think about the innkeeper.

“There was no room for them in the inn.”
— Luke 2:7

No room — and yet, the King of Kings arrived anyway. Emmanuel. God with us.

Can you imagine missing the opportunity to host a holy family? To make space for the Savior — simply because the house was too full, too busy, too crowded, or you just happened to not be home when he arrived...?!?

This season is loud. Schedules are packed. Calendars are bursting.

But Christmas gently asks us the same question every year: Have you made room in the inn?

Sometimes making room doesn’t mean doing more — it can mean choosing to stay. Choosing to center yourself. Choosing to create an environment that says, 'You are welcome here.'

Protect your peace and don't feel pressured to do all the things....
But, light the candles. Play the music. Have the hot water ready for coffee, tea, or cocoa. And when the door opens — whether it’s for family, friends, or someone unexpected — be ready.

Then, when the house is full and the fire is burning and the laughter echoes into the night, pour yourself a cup of tea and enjoy the season.
You didn’t just make room for them.
You made room for Christmas. You made room for Jesus and you made room for yourself, too.


Where might God be inviting you to stay home, slow down, and make room — instead of rushing past the holy and treasure moments right in front of you?

Lord, help me recognize when You are knocking. Teach me to make room in my home and in my heart — not just for the familiar, but for the unexpected. May my life be a place where Your presence is welcomed, and where others feel warmth, rest, and love because You dwell here. Amen.


Until next time, keep following the Plott, and I will be praying for us all. 💛

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