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Dear Table,

Sometimes, I dress you all up with starched napkins and fancy plates. Sometimes, I light you up with a zillion candles. Most days I let you be your beautiful self, quite ordinary and without any pretenses.

You carry plates, and glasses, and silverware.  You carry confrontations, and memories, and laughter unto tears.

Oh, if you could only talk… 

Sitting around you, I have gotten to know famous people, hideous people, kind people, hurting people, smart people… With you as the centerpiece, the people I love have divulged deep secrets, and cried until there were no more tears, and regained strength and laughed until their bellies hurt.  

Remember when we initiated a new family member to our Christmas Fondue tradition?  You soaked in all the spilled oil without any complaint–became stronger for it.  Remember when you became a source of comfort in the nastiest of storms?  You were a safe harbor that we gladly embraced to keep our sanity.  Remember when we spilled a rainbow of colors upon you, deeply involved with coloring our Easter eggs?  You drank it all in, and we did too–vitamins for the souls. 

Our hands have encircled you more often than I can count as we invited Jesus in our midst and blessed our food, and each other around you.  Our lives are edged on your surface, from the nicks to the indentations of hands rubbing the grain of your belly during long conversations.

My family’s history is lodged deep within your planks– imperfect and so gorgeous.   

Thank you for all you that you mean to me.

Barbara

Counting One Thousand Gifts with Ann

#49 Friday nights “wine and cheese” with my husband

#48 friends around my table

#47 the anticipation of dinner with friends

#46 the provision of food

#45 the beauty of a well set table

#42 my European Knife-holders

Linking up with Better Mom, the Extraordinary Ordinary, Far above Rubies, A mama’s story and Finding Beauty

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