When it came time to pack for my trip to England several weeks ago, I didn’t know how I would do. Feeling depleted after a winter of missing Nate, I hoped I was strong enough to be helpful with the twins and Nicholas. Flying so far from home without Nate reminding me of all the details was unnerving. After all, he was the one who had always kept the tickets safe, organized the schedule, chose a good departure time, did the driving, hauled the bags.

As I wrestled my two 49 pound suitcases down the stairs before dawn on the morning I left the cottage, I was muttering about being a fool for trying to travel abroad by myself. Case in point, I nearly left the house without my passport, because it hadn’t crossed my mind to dig it out of the file cabinet. When I went to get it, I wondered if it had expired. Such shabby planning indicated I was out of my depth.

Katy had suggested, as the trip was being planned, that I stay three doors down at their pastor’s home in order to be assured of a good night’s sleep, since the Nyman nights would be lively with two newborns. It sounded wise, but I worried about being a burden to a family I hadn’t met. “You’ll love them,” Katy assured me. “They really want to help you.”

When I met Esther, she greeted me warmly, genuinely enthusiastic about my arrival. She showed me to the back of the house where I had my own room with an empty wardrobe and a private bathroom. She handed me a house key and showed me how to work the lock. On the bedroom door was a cheery greeting made by six year old Naomi that said, “Welcome to our home Aunty Margaret!”

Esther’s first suggestion was that I take a nap to fight the overpowering fatigue of jet lag, and I gratefully gave in to the comfort of their guest bed. As the 14 days passed, we fell into an easy rhythm, staggering our showers and making sure we didn’t bump into each other getting ready for the day. As the children left for school, I walked to Hans and Katy’s house down the block.

Each new morning I’d ask Katy, “How was your night with the babies?”

She’d detail their literal ups and downs and then ask, “How was your night?”

I could always answer, “I slept like a stone.” Thanks to the pastor’s family and their welcoming hospitality toward a needy widow, I could face each day with renewed energy.

Something else happened while I stayed with the pastor’s family. Esther was a hostess of excellence, replenishing the bed with fresh sheets and the bathroom with clean towels more than once during my stay. Everything sparkled with cleanliness, and for the first time since Nate died, I felt eager to attack my Michigan cottage when I got back. This just might be a sign of healing, a blessing to contemplate.

I also noticed how much Esther got done, entertaining groups in the evening, babysitting some mornings, serving as lunch lady at her children’s school every mid-day and having women friends visit. She even did my laundry, hanging everything out to dry in the sunshine of a British spring. It isn’t easy being a pastor’s wife with its extra responsibilities, but Esther keeps all her plates spinning while wearing a broad smile.

It was our delight to take the three babies to church on Sunday where we got to hear Keith preach. I was challenged by his message and energized by the lively worship of a congregation filled with young families. And when my laptop crashed later that day, Keith loaned me one of his, eventually gifting me with it on a permanent basis.

By the end of my stay, Esther, Keith and I were no longer strangers, and I look forward to furthering our friendships when I next return to England. My prayer is that God will shower them with blessings for their willingness to help a widow in need.

“When God’s people are in need, be ready to help them. Always be eager to practice hospitality.” (Romans 12:13)