I'm going to be extremely honest here.
I like people. I like cleaning my house in anticipation of hosting visitors, whether for an afternoon tea or a prolonged stay. I love to prepare food for others to enjoy. I do.
On the other hand, I'm far more of an introvert than not. The peace of my own quiet, empty home is bliss. Nothing could be more ideal than being here, caring for my husband--and, now, my daughter--with only the outside interruptions I choose.
Unfortunately, the two persuasions clash. Though I get excited to entertain, the temporary opening of my quiet haven sometimes erodes my endurance too early. And, though I love our happy home, I sometimes get impatient to open it to others.
It's a ridiculous position, I know.
The best definition of an introvert I've heard (by which of course I mean the one that best describes me), is someone who gets his energy or "recharges," so to speak, by being alone. When I'm around a lot of people--or around people a lot--I just get tired. My mental and emotional endurance wanes. I crave the solace of solitude. That is why Nancy Wilson's recent post on greater hospitality grabbed my attention and why I continue to seek grace for a larger heart.