There are days when life feels like the lobby of a Hampton Inn during a cheer competition weekend. Noise. Requests. Chaos.
And I’m the tired front-desk clerk trying to act like I have more rooms than I actually do.
Then this line from the Christmas story shook me awake: “There was no room.”
The innkeeper didn’t ghost them. He didn’t apologize ten times. He didn’t burn himself out pulling mattresses from the basement. He told the truth.
And it wasn’t rejection. It was reality.
Boundaries name what is actually true. This is what I have. This is what I can offer without abandoning myself in the process. The innkeeper’s no wasn’t cruelty—it was clarity. And that clarity made space for something real: a stable. Imperfect shelter. Humble provision.
But honest.
We live in a world where people expect access to us simply because they want it.
We’re handed guilt like it’s a holiday tradition: “You should make room.”
But psychologist Nedra Glover Tawwab reminds us, “Boundaries are not meant to punish, but to protect your mental health and your relationships.”
The innkeeper’s no protected everyone. It prevented resentment. It created space for what was actually possible instead of what looked generous but ended up feeling like a lie.
Sometimes the holiest thing you can say is: “I don’t have space for that right now.”
And maybe that boundary creates the very place—the stable—where God can show up in ways you never expected. Not in the polished room you pretended to have, but in the honest space you were brave enough to offer.
Practice:
Say one honest sentence today about your actual capacity. Not the “performing for Jesus and everyone else” capacity… your real one.
Grace and Peace,
Andrea