The following metaphor was inspired by a night that I experienced real community in a nearby home. This is written from the perspective of the table itself.
Theres a richness in my exposed grain.
A depth that could only be exposed by true life. A thousand stories that have brought me to the wisdom I hold today.
I’ve hosted a thousand conversations, been stained by salty tears, shook with the harshness of words, resonated with the sound of laughter, invited into the presence of family and friends, warmed by the dishes and countless cups of coffee set upon my meeting place.
I’ve witnessed the messy play times, with toys scattered like grains of sand. I’ve experienced strangers being welcomed in as family. I’ve felt the glad sacrifice of collected dishes and wipped spills. I’ve felt the joyous breeze of little ones rushing by, and also the impact of miscalculated steps.
I’ve been spilt on physically and literally. Then gently cleaned up outwardly and redeemed with a pleasing aroma. I’ve sensed healing redemption and moments words cannot explain. I’ve heard wise counsel and Holy words. Discerned the perfection of genuine brokenness and the intimacy in authentic wanting.
Everyone is welcome and invited to my meeting place. I have no capability for exclusions or judgements. I am simply a space, a doorway, a path to which I do not decide or influence the destination. The simplicity of what I have to offer is often taken as foolishness, but it’s riches are never ending.
I don’t need to put my history into words. It is in fact impossible for me to do so, but it is seen and felt by those searching. It is undeniable by those who walk into the understanding of my journey. If you take time to slow down and take in my scars, you will find what you seek. The community of The Kingdom. The Table of the Redeemed.
