I had watched her from afar for weeks, this mysterious woman in the water. Each time I saw her, my curiosity grew.

Perhaps it was her hair, softly streaked with grey and twisted into an elegant bun on top of her head. Or maybe it was her enduring smile, the way her face held such benevolence that I began to wonder if it was permanently fixed in an expression of quiet joy. It could be the way she gleefully greeted each person by name when they entered the room.

Whatever it was, I felt drawn to her and wondered what part of her story intersected with each of us who find ourselves swimming laps at the Auburn YMCA on Tuesday and Thursday mornings between 9 and 10 a.m.

For the past several months since returning to the gym, Drew and I have exchanged smiles with her and a few brief pleasantries. “I like your suit!” was the first thing she ever said to me before I stepped into the pool. Looking down at my old blue swimsuit with white anchors printed on it, I called out “Thank you!” across several lap lanes, wishing I had something more to say.

“Hooraaay! Peggy’s here!” she exulted loudly from her lane one Thursday morning as an older woman shuffled in, clutching her pool noodle. At the sound of her name, Peggy looked up and beamed.

“What a gift,” I thought, “to be known by this woman and welcomed by name.”

Last Tuesday, I got my chance.

When Drew and I slipped into the water of the lane closest to hers, we smiled at her in recognition. As she float-walked slowly towards us she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Drew, and Katie,” she repeated after we told her.

 “I’m Mary Francis,” she said when we asked.

“Of course,” I thought to myself—what a perfect name for this motherly, hospitable queen of the pool. I began to swim with a bit more ease that morning, with levity in my heart. The sun’s streaking through the dim glass ceiling made the water sparkle with tiny rainbows, turning an ordinary pool into a cathedral of water and light. I felt truly happy.

Back and forth, Mary Francis walked and chatted with a friend as I swam and delighted in the feel of being held by liquid light. “Great job, Katie!” she’d say as we passed each other. I smile-laugh-gulped for air and wondered “Who would say something like that to a stranger?”

The thing is, this is not Mary Francis’s pool. She does not have the ‘right’ to welcome me in the same way a staff member would. And yet, she has made it her place to make every single person feel at home in her love, even the lifeguards and pool technicians. Her bold kindness bolstered me, making me want to swim faster and stronger—like I belonged.

* * *

Since my encounter with Mary Francis, I’ve been marveling at the significant impact her presence of welcome and encouragement has had on my week. Her bold hospitality has inspired me to ask, what would it be like for me to be hospitable to others, even if the space we share does not belong to me?

I remember Drew’s first Sunday preaching at our current church. We were strangers in our congregation, and I was anxious. As we walked into the sanctuary that morning, I thought, “Most of these people have known each other for decades—how long will it take for us to feel like we belong?” God soon answered my worried question through the beaming faces of Joe and Marlene—our church’s most faithful greeters. This couple has faithfully welcomed strangers into our church for decades; no one who has encountered their kindness has ever wondered if they belong.

Deep down, don’t we all want to know if we are welcome here, on this earth—in our own lives?

Isn’t this what we are called to do as followers of Christ—to welcome the stranger in our midst, to practice radical hospitality by extending the same belonging to others that we’ve been given as adopted children in God’s family?

Before the Israelites ever entered their promised homeland, Moses told them:

You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.

(Deuteronomy 10:19)

Perhaps this is what it truly means to love our neighbors as ourselves—to welcome the stranger in our midst, even when we struggle with our own sense of belonging. To truly love our neighbor we must remember what it is like to be strangers and speak Home to one another.

Welcoming others Home—into the eternal belonging of Christ—is the heart of the Gospel.

Paul writes of this good news in Ephesians 2:13:

But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.

Whether she intended to or not, Mary Francis’s welcoming me to our community pool reminded me of my own belonging and made me want to remind others, too. Welcoming others into their own existence is a simple thing, yet it makes a world of difference. I know it did for me.

This week, may you extend the welcome you have received in Christ to the people around you. May you know how deeply cherished you are in the family of God.