Abundance – Life Around A Table

This is Day 15. To read the collective, that is all posts in the 31 Day Series click here. Today I am joining Amber Haines for her concrete words writing prompt.Today’s word is table.

The round, the oval, the rectangle memory builder, maker.

The dining, the coffee, the end, the side,  the row, column of data. The table.

A vehicle for feasting the soul, the heart, the mind.

In  one transformative sweep it morphs from holder of today’s bills and mail to the meeting place for high school english project. Piles of candy recharge, refuel the teenage mind, while brainstorming crisscrosses her mahogany Pledge shine surface with ideas to make the project better. More A worthy for the teacher.

And its held recreations of a Civil War battle and the solar system, glued construction paper replica, comes together where china, crystal, linen napkins share the place of honor.

She becomes the family board meeting table, hosting discussions of what went well, what bruised hearts at school this day. She, firm, steady, noble bears up under tears of joy, tears of happiness.  Tears. Holds up well during squabbles or were they full-blown fights.

She has born witness  to those who failed to  follow the family  protocol sent from her to their rooms, off to think in solitude, of how they hurt, whom they hurt. Her eyes have seen the dogs fed scraps of cold peas, stewed tomatoes remnants of the unwanted slipped beneath her.

And all the Cheerios spilled. Thrown. High chairs pulled up to her until the graduation to a real seat. Elbows on her. Nervous hands rattle silverware, ADD herky jerky knives and forks tap tap out like morse code on her chocolate brown surface. Spilt milk, water pools over, rivers of running liquids spilled and wiped, wiped and spilled again.

Like the family secrets. Spilled. The table holds the family up together while the abundance is passed, salad, bread, more than enough even in times of want. And there is pass the salt, pass your words so we can know your heart. More spilled liquids, more spilled dreams and then we move from the table.

And the every changing centerpiece of the real centerpiece of the home is this place of nourishment. The sunflowers, baskets of shells, rosemary mixed in, the gardenia and hydranga, they mark a season, mark a life.

It all is so abundant there. The way He has filled us up. The way the mana keeps on coming. Flowing.

The way a table is not needed when you grab a tray a plate and balance on your lap, serving from the table now becomes a buffet for a house full. She serves so graciously. Always ready to transform into the wooden vessel of service.

It is the departure point for life, we move from her after nourishing our bodies, minds, and souls. The side holds books, the coffee holds papers screaming a headline. The bedside holds bibles, more books.

And she has heard the voices of the High -Low game, played over her. The best of the day, the worst of the day tossed back and forth like ping pong ball over and around. Marking the day with baked chicken mashed potatoes. My high is being here with you, The Patient one says. This meal, this time. She hears confessional of what blesses the breadwinner’s heart. The being sur la table. Looks out and on his family from the head.

And she bears witness to the words of thanks for the grateful hearts creaking back in chairs, rocking back on back legs wobbly.We are grateful for the abundance. Children and friends and friends of friends. Monopoly and dominoes shuffled cards.

Blessings sung, off key, in unison, blessings spoken. Children’s easy God is Great, but for all ages, because God is Great and He is Good. And the long ones spoken by the mother while her children squirm and say the food is getting cold.

She has seen eggs died, dipped, rolled on her at the celebration of His resurrected life. And Christmas mornings too, with Luke and children’s books read. Moravian sugar cake, coffee-cake, casseroles, and carols, candles. She has heard the telling of His birth seen the bird carved up and served. Thanksgiving feasts laid in thanks with gratitude through the years.

Her memories tabled in a column in a row of data, she sees the life lined up and stacked. Life and portions served from the left, cleared from the right. Napkin in your lap spoken one thousand times or more. Mabel, mabel get your elbows off the table. Candle wax dripped, cut off with a knife. Red wine spills and stains, tears spilled and stained.

Announcements made, plans made, the best laid plans made and tabled, the discussion is over. You may go to your room. You may clear. You may set. You may be excused. May I be excused too. You may.

Bow your heads. No peeking. She could write a book.

There was the time she opened her engagement ring, wrapped in a box in a box in a box, from him, there, at the table, at her parents. And there was the time. All the time, the rhythm of the meal, no bare feet, the knife guards the spoon from the fork, its a battleground sometimes. Crease in the napkin, more linen than paper. No condiments random, must be wrangled in a proper container. And there was the time.

Chapter One. In the beginning was the table, she served her family well. May she rest well after years of service.

Until she takes her place with the next generation.

And takes her place as the centerpiece of service, serving others, always.

God is Great, God is Good, Let us thank Him….for the table a place for feasting on the life abundant.

Counting gifts, gratefully, time, crisp air, hope, pink morning sky, peace, good news, more peace, gracious words, more hope, pink mums, time to reflect back on a life of a young mom who died at 48 and hear the words of the funeral from two of our children, cherishing the days we have, seeing the abundance in this life, time with old friends – tender, sweet, seeing God’s hand of protection and sovereignty, too many to count.

Joining Ann, Laura, Amber, Michelle ,  L.L. Barkat, and The Nester.

And now its time for your words. Because hearing yours is an important part of being in a community. You may leave one word or many, but I do love to hear from ya’ll. There is a comment box below, there is a leave a comment link on high. Either way, they wait for your words to spill and add more color.

You may leave words on Facebook, Twitter or my email inbox. Those are great word repositories too.

Slow, Slower, Slowest

It may have started in nursery school with that game.

Do you remember the one when the music stopped playing you took a seat and if you

were slow you were out.

You had nowhere to sit.

It may have started with races and racing on the playground.

The fast were picked, the slow left out.

It may not matter where it began because it seeped deep into our every fiber.

And it is.

We race, hurry, scurry, fly by, rush, whirling dervish our way down through our days.

And we miss out on the small.

I hear a collective cry and sigh these days.

From women and moms and wives and mothers.

A cry of the heart.

To rest from the weary of the rush.

A cry of the soul to slow the pace.

And a cry of the eyes of the heart to see it all, record and mark.

Save and savor, this life, these days.

And I seek to find a way to slow.

And it looks a lot like poetry to me.

The fewer the simpler the spaces for breathing.

The shorter.

A place for the eyes and mind to meander down line, weaving along slowly

The words, the life, the road.

I long to be more the tortoise in the story now.

I was the hare, it sounds like harried to me now.

And missing the chair in child’s game seems sweet

Sitting cross-legged on the floor down low,

Slowly I embrace that too.

And of all the slow I now know

Makes us winners

almost every time

Slow to speak and quick to listen, love

 guard the tongue

Slowly slowly this I know,

Release the tongue, the words, the thought

Slowly slowly this I know.

Row row row your boat gently, merrily, slowly,

See the child’s play in the day

With eyes wide open

slow, slower, slowest.

See you at the finish line

Last one there wins.


Today is Day 13 in the series. I am joining others at The Nester. To read the collective click here or go to the page link entitled 31 Days on my home page.

Writing in community with Sandra Heska King

And now its time for your words. I long to hear from you. Jump in and join the conversation. There is more JOY when you speak too. Leave a Comment at the top of the page is waiting for your words. Click, write, speak, join this community. You may wish to subscribe and follow all the posts here.

The Necklace

It was gold. It was a circular, pliable, bendable, wire.

It still is.

He purchased it on our trip. The one we took the day after we stood before the robed one and said, forever, we do. And there were hundreds there. And really the One who matters the most, the Most High. He was there.

He still is.

Today is always a new mercy morning. This one is our twenty four year mark. Of being linked and bendable and pliable. And tomorrow will be a new mercy morning. And the portal into the quarter century mark on a conjoined life.

It has held much, the wire. It has been to weddings and funerals and celebrations and church. On it has been threaded pearls and coins. An octopus and a turtle have hung from there too.

And there was the coin from the bottom of the sea with the cross, raised you can run your fingers over and touch the trinity, or is  it deep-grooved recessed. Or is it both. Around the neck on the wire, it is heavy and it is large, but it is beautiful. Hammered encircling the coin, on the wire, the others, the dolphin, the seahorse, the sealife, the handwrought others.

And it, like the wire was a gift. From the Patient One who is here. And doing life and loving sweet, tender, deep, and gentle.

And bearing, like the wired gold treasure.

Who dripped sweat from his brow the day we said the vows and still does. Because of all the work. Long days. Long weeks. Laboring in love.

And of all the things we’ve lost, many and much that was lost. But not missed. There is no lacking. There is no want or need. Really.

We never lost the gold circuitous wire.

The one that holds the things. The one that she wears.

The one he gave in love.

And it is strong and weight-bearing. Capable of holding the delicate and the heavy.

A slim gold wire. always marking the early on. Always marking the continuity of the continuous conjoined love.

Wrapping around the neck, in love. Gold. Worthy of a gift to the stable. Given by a wise man.

Bending, not breaking. And holding treasures.

Always. At least we have today.

And the words we said before the Holy One infront of the robed one and the hundreds, they echo sacred, they echo soft. And two gold rings wrapped around, in love.

Twenty four years ago today. The glorious day we have, in love.

This is a post written with Amber and a community of writers on the one word prompt necklace.

Counting gifts, hopefully forever, but at least for today:

Marriage, twenty four years.
A doctor’s visit with a child that will lead to change… it looks promising, it looks good.
A night of celebrating, its all up in the air, its all good.
A night with all three kiddos home… rare and welcome…makes my momma heart soar.
A long talk with my momma after she left the hospital. It was so very long & wonderful.
The sun is shining bright though they’ve called for rain.
Time with the man/child in our bedroom right before we fall asleep. Precious.
Plans are made to be with friends a long way away for a wedding. Joy.
Laughter and open lines of communication with a child.
The kindest comments from the kindest readers any blogger could wish for.
New friends.
Wonderful time on the river. Beautiful friends. Beautiful day. A long boat ride to a yummy burger.

And linking too with Ann for Multitudes on Mondays and Michelle at Michelle DeRusha dot com. And Laura for Playdates. And with Jen at SDG

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Rest, Respite, Recovery–For the Soul

May you each cup in your hand
rest and respite
quiet and calm
gazing and off-staring
dreaming day and dreaming night
breathing deep and sighing long
laying down and looking up.
So  when  New Tomorrow comes, you can get on her back, sailing off to all wonders of    Glorious New Day.
Rested and ready
For the all He has
For you and for me
To do, in Love
To do, in service
To do in the living.
Abundant Grace to you in Soul Recovery
May it Be,
For you
May it Be,
For we.
May it Be,
For Him.

Jesus said

Come off by yourselves; lets take a break and get a little rest.

For there was constant coming and going.–Mark 6:31

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Linking with Deidra and Heather on this Sunday.