When In-laws Become Friends

Receiving radical hospitality.

Photo by Author

There is a little corner in Los Angeles where radical hospitality lives. I took advantage of this space after a near-desperate call to my sister-in-law to see if the small place in her backyard was open and available. Within minutes she replied, “Yes, of course!!!”

That much of her life and work is guided by these two words, radical hospitality, made the asking even easier.

Tucked under an enormous oak tree, this once-dilapidated garage offers calm to a tumultuous spirit.

It is no small thing, this dear friendship with my sister-in-law, my husband’s stepsister, a world-renowned artist. We eyed each other suspiciously when I first came on the scene. Me a prim, Christian suburbanite eager to fit in and be liked. She, a radical feminist, an edgy presence blazing her trail.

But decades can do funny things.

Like uncovering that we are not all we present to the world. She and I have met on common ground with the kindred connection of two women interested in making sense of the world, to honor what is good, and extend hospitality to fellow travelers along the way.

I have been surprised at the ways in which our paradigms for life intersect and match. We can laugh and investigate and wonder together.

And I am still a bit in awe.

Her work, on the side of buildings, in the homes of famous people, in my home, pushes me to see beyond my narrow scope and consider new dimensions and angles.

Perspectives like, “Who would Jesus deport?”

I visit her studio with mouth agape at the dynamic work, the creations that stretch me to ask new questions.

What has emerged over twenty years is both an openness and a fondness in what was at first a truly unlikely place.

And now, I sit beneath her large oak tree in the middle of a sprawling urban town and marvel at this gift of quiet.

I am so grateful for this radical hospitality.