Frozen Hospitality

a Saturday Story

Saturday stories are a slight break from the daily devotionals I write. They are stories from life – sometimes with a point, and sometimes they are just stories. For the context of this week's Saturday Story, you may want to go back and read the previous three Saturday installments…

As I mentioned in my last Saturday Story, our training sessions took place in the depths of a bitterly cold winter. It remains the only location where I taught wearing a heavy winter jacket the entire time. With temperatures low enough to chill your thoughts, sweating was not an issue. I had packed light, bringing only three changes of clothes.

The pastors we were working with lived simply, their modest wardrobes reflecting the humble means of their congregations. Wearing the same outfit several days in a row was unremarkable to them, so I figured my minimal wardrobe would go unnoticed.

However, one kind elderly woman had other plans. She was determined to show hospitality by doing our laundry. Repeatedly, she approached me with offers to wash my clothes. Her persistence was admirable, but I declined each time for practical reasons. First, I had so few clothes to spare; I couldn’t afford the downtime. Second, I had serious doubts about how they would be dried—especially considering the lack of modern conveniences like a clothes dryer.

For a few days, I managed to fend off her good intentions. Then, I made a rookie mistake: I left my clothes out on the bed instead of tucked away in my backpack. That was all the opportunity she needed.

During our lunch break, I returned to my room for a moment of rest and immediately noticed something was off. My clothes were gone. There was only one suspect, and I didn’t have to look far to confirm my suspicions. Outside, strung between two poles on a wire line, my wardrobe was displayed for all to see—frozen stiff.

My pants were as flat as a board, my shirt as rigid as cardboard, and my underwear…well, let’s just say it had achieved a level of dignity I never expected. The woman approached, beaming with pride. Her expression said, See how I’ve blessed you?

I couldn’t help but smile, though internally I was wondering what on earth I would do with my frozen-solid clothing. She carefully removed them from the line, stacking them like icy planks, and handed them to me as if presenting a treasure. I thanked her with all the gratitude I could muster and carried the frosty bundle back to my room, brainstorming solutions.

Then it hit me—I was sleeping on a concrete broiler plate! The heated slab that had nearly cooked me alive on my first night now seemed like a stroke of divine foresight. Before heading back to the conference room, I laid out my frosty garments on the slab. By the time I returned, they were warm, dry, and perfectly wearable.

Maybe this had been her plan all along—a clever synergy of old-world ingenuity and sheer determination.

clothes frozen on a clothes line