K and I were living just outside of D.C., in a company apartment for a few months while he was taking part in a training program. We were married just over a year and I was 21 years old. His parents asked to come for a visit at Thanksgiving. We said no. K was in class six days a week, so I knew it would mean long days alone with them, not at all what I was up for at that time in my life.
They announced that they had already bought tickets and would be staying for a week. (It took a few more years before they learned no means no, and for us to learn to say it clearly.) So they came. Each day I listened to all of their ideas of what, where and how we should spend our time, lives, etc., ...venting to K each night.
On the last night, K's mom was talking about how we all have gifts. Each of us. Something that is our strength and obligation to share with others. She then went on to describe how much she loved having people in her home- thinking about what to feed them, what they would enjoy doing, how to make everything special for her guests, etc., ending with, "Yes, I know mine is the Gift of Hospitality!"
Without missing a beat, with my eyes closed with the exasperation and frustration of the last six days, without a moment's hesitation, or thought, or any nuance of grace, I blurted out, "Well, I don't know what mine is, but it's Not hospitality!"
(FYI- this is a very good way to silence a room.)
The next day, after taking them to the airport, I called a friend and told her about the conversation and my unhospitable reaction. Without missing a beat, she said, "Your gift is prophecy. You're a truth teller."
She rewrapped all of my blunt, socially awkward, straight-forward ways into something to celebrate. My tendency to show all of my cards and call out everyone else's, was a good thing!
I don't know if my mother-in-law quite saw it that way when I later shared this revelation with her, but we both knew it was the truth.