What if welcoming fills the emptiness?
The empty (or "spacious") nest season can be one of joy and purpose
When my youngest left for college, I felt unmoored. For years, I’d been juggling my work, my family, various tasks of ministry and relationship. I’d become adept at the balancing act.
Suddenly there were fewer balls to juggle. Both my children chose colleges on opposite ends of the west coast, each a four-hour plane ride away from home. Their leaving opened a tender spot and left a mark. My nest emptied and my world sort of tilted off balance. I’d always nurtured my children’s independence, allowed them to be a bit free range, but now—well, they were being more independent than perhaps I’d bargained for.
I had other things going on in my life—working full-time, wonderful friendships. It wasn’t as if my only job or interest had been being their mom. I’d heard about the empty nest season, but was unprepared for the ferocity with which it hit me.
Photo by Shannon Deans: https://www.pexels.com/
But. My more “spacious nest,” as my friend Tim likes to call it, felt a little cavernous. I needed to reconfigure things. I leaned into work, which at the time was also shifting. Nothing felt solid. It didn’t help that we lost our beloved family dog around the same time my son went off to school. (Here’s a post I wrote back then, processing the grief.)
Here’s what I know now: the way out of grief is through it. But what does that look like? How do you find the path forward?
If you’re an empty nester, or perhaps anxiously standing on the precipice of that particular season, I have good news. There is a way through the struggle, and you’ll find joy and purpose on the other side. If you are willing to be intentional, to grieve the loss, but then look for the opportunity, what you find may surprise you.
In those first days of spacious nesting, my husband and I had to figure out how to relate to one another again, to negotiate a different sort of existence that didn’t center on our kids. They were still in our life. We talked to them often, we paid tuition bills, we coached them from the wings of their lives. But Scot and I had to navigate a new path—to become reacquainted without driving each other crazy.
Repurposing our home
Our home had always been a place where we’d welcomed people: our kids’ friends, our friends, strangers from around the world. But one of the surprising ways to heal the grief of the empty nest has been refilling it.
We’re aware that having a home is a privilege, a gift. And we believe that gifts are not meant to be hoarded but stewarded generously. We have always wanted to use our home to welcome others. And over the years, we have done that. But in this spacious nest season, we’ve been able to lean into that in a new way.
Our first guest, Svein-Tony, visited from Norway.
Over the last several years, we’ve welcomed people, sometimes for just for a meal or a weekend, but also, to live with us for several months at a time. Our current house sharer will be here at least a year. (These are never total strangers—typically they have been referred to us by someone we know, so they fall in the “friend of a friend” category.) Still, it feels very much like we’re responding to Jesus’ invitation, when he said, “I was a stranger and you invited me in.”
I had always wanted to practice hospitality in this way because I’d seen others do it and admired them. And because I believe Jesus told the truth: when we welcome others, we welcome Jesus, and experience divine presence. But it felt unobtainable, impossible. Until it didn’t. Until there was room for it, both physically and emotionally.
We needed some time, right after Aaron went to college and our dog passed away (milestones that fell like meteors within two weeks of one another) to simply grieve and heal. But eventually, opportunities came our way. We began to ask ourselves, would we want to open up some of the cavernous space in our now kid-less and dog-less house to someone who needed housing?
Our modest suburban home includes a basement with a bedroom and bath that serve as a perfect guest suite—private and cozy.
We said yes, and Todd, an intern at our church, ended up staying with us for several months. He was still there when Aaron came home from college for the summer. Aaron took this in stride, as we’d been welcoming strangers for shorter visits since he was in kindergarten.
Since then, we’ve had a series of short- or long-term guests living with us. One summer, we had two students live with us.
The empty nest season is hard, in part because we collide with questions of meaning and purpose. Even though I told myself all through my kids’ teen years that the end goal was to work myself out of a job, and even though I engaged in meaningful work as a writer and editor, and had a supportive circle of friends, I still floundered a bit, feeling disconnected from what had become a big part of my identity. I remember one kid in Aaron’s youth group (which met at our house every week), calling me “Mrs. Aaron’s Mom.” That was accurate. For 20 years, I’d often introduced myself as “Melanie and Aaron’s mom.”
Yes, I was more than that—but my role of mom took up a big space in my life. And now, that space was empty. My first response was to work more and play more. I joined a running group, I took on more projects for work. But just keeping busier only did so much.
What if hospitality, the practice of welcoming, can bring healing to seasons of loss? What if providing a place for people to be—whether for a meal, a weekend, or a longer stay—can give us meaning, joy, and purpose when those things are in short supply?
How to fill your nest
Welcoming people to live with you is one way to fill an empty, err, spacious, nest. But not the only way. I have friends who think I am crazy for taking in guests, even for a week at a time. But there are other ways to access the joy of welcoming.
Here are a few:
I’ve talked to countless people who have chosen to open their home to children, either by becoming foster parents, or by engaging in a ministry like Safe Families, which provides temporary care for children in crisis.
For years while our kids were young, we opened our home to pastors and leaders who attended conferences at our church, and also hosted our son’s youth group every Sunday for an entire school year. If you’re connected with a church or mission organization, you might contact them to see if they need hosts to welcome people for a few days at a time.
If you live near a college or university, you might see if there are students who can’t go home for holidays or spring break, and invite them to have a meal or even spend the weekend at your home, rather than being mostly alone in the dorms.
Perhaps if you’re enjoying the freedom and privacy of the spacious nest, but wanting to do something to welcome others, you might consider mentoring a younger person (or a couple). Mentoring is as simple as a conversation, perhaps over a meal or coffee. It’s about listening and perhaps offering some wisdom, but mostly about listening. You can “welcome” someone at your local coffee shop if you’d prefer it.
For many years, we led various small group Bible studies in our home. We’d meet weekly and go through a study guide or read a book together. We’d often share a meal or snacks. You might find opportunities for this sort of welcome through your church or even a neighborhood group.
Do you have elderly neighbors, who might be feeling lonely? What would happen if you invited them to share a meal with you?
Another way I’ve practiced welcoming in my empty nest years is by visiting a refugee family. I’ve become very close to this family.
They’ve come to my house a few times, but mostly, I visit them in their home. They welcome me as I welcome them to our country. Over the last seven years, we’ve become like family. I visit, help with homework, attend their parent-teacher conferences. We’ve practiced mutual hospitality. You can connect with refugees in your area through a number of different organizations, including World Relief and Exodus World Service (in the Chicago area).
Take a moment right now to listen. Is there an invitation, a longing that wells up? Pay prayerful attention to whatever is stirring in your heart. Maybe joy and purpose might be within your reach, and as simple as setting another place at your table.
The empty nest (spacious nest) season brings some grief, but taking action to welcome others in some way will help you shed that grief, transform it into a blessing for others (and for you). It will provide an outlet for your need to nurture and bless others at the same time. Welcoming is transformational at any stage of life, but during this spacious nest season, it can bring not just meaning and purpose, but healing.
I got a shout out!
When we talked to people as the kids moved out we’d insist on calling our new situation a spacious nest and explain, “How can it be empty when we’re still in it for crying out loud!”