kitchen table

Our kitchen table is alive with life.  Not bacteria… well, maybe bacteria.  What I mean is that our table displays the life of our family: the permenant indentations of Zac’s dinosaur drawings; the crust of unknown origins wedged between the leaves; the imperfect beauty of the wood grain; the long, deep scratch in the center caused by curious 4 year old with my car keys; the sometimes slow and sometimes rapid dance of shadows and light from the window…

From this perch we look out of a large pane of glass over some rooftops.  Our eyes eventually settle on a row of douglas fir trees about 250 yards away where three eagles play: one soaring high on the winds, one nesting warmly, one staring unswervingly with confidence.

What am I worried about?  Why would trouble brew in my soul?  I am so weak… and yet… my Creator is alive.  Even in a world marked up by scratches, evidence of his loving detail and grand vision abounds. 

Our kitchen table has borne sorrows and scarcity, strain and uncertainties.  It has also reveled in joys and laughter, birthday cakes and thanksgiving.  Smoothing its corners have been smiling songs sung, hands held, prayers spoken, cards worn. 

Thank you, my Creator God, for your continual presence and for your caring provision.  We love you!  And we love you even more because of the scratches!  Please let us continue to meet you here.

Amen.