The Table

The idea of “The Table” started for me as little girl.  Our family, regardless of the busyness or changes in seasons of life, made the dinner table a priority.  Although small with just my parents, brother, and me, the coming together every evening is pivotal in my memory.  As a parent now, I wonder how exactly my parents pulled it off with our sports and music schedules, church activities and all the life that spins circles around us and yet somehow, we’d end up together at the table, or on a blanket together at a baseball practice, after volleyball practice, before homework.  Both of my parents had careers, worked outside the home, and shared the load of cooking, cleaning, and chauffeuring, but dinner always found its way to the table.  And so did we.

The table to me is a place of abundance, where wanting people leave fed, souls and bodies depart nourished, life is found and life is given. I inherited my mother’s ability to make more food than any small army could ever eat and while I tease her the way my children tease me, I love that we always cook too much food.  It comes from a deep desire to make sure that everyone leaves full, never hungry or wishing there was one more piece of bread.  Now some would say this trait of ours is excessive but I don’t think love can be too excessive or too extravagant. And we show love by feeding people’s bellies.   My husband would argue that there can be an excessive amount of pulled pork and that he stops feeling loved after eating it five nights in a row because I made too much, but I feel no need to split hairs about this small detail. 

When we were first married I envisioned a perfectly set table complete with chargers under our plates, individualized napkin rings cradling cloth napkins, and actually using all those serving platters we registered for. It’s been painful, but that picture has been shattered into a million pieces and replaced with a sturdy stack of paper plates we always keep on hand. Over the years I’ve learned that I’d much rather have friends, neighbors, and strangers-soon-to-be-friends, pull up a chair, eat until they feel full in heart and belly and then rest, not thinking twice about the amount of dishes stacked next to my sink.  I still have all those plates and chargers packed away for the day my girls want to set a masterpiece and they volunteer to wash all the dishes, but until then, I’ve washed my hands of expectations and have fully embraced Chinet.

Along with family dinners, there are two tables that have key places in my memory bank: my aunt and uncle’s poolside patio table in Connecticut and my college mentor’s backyard oasis.  Both tables were stationed in the beautiful outdoors, surrounded by gardens and little lights.  Both were ladened with delicious food and full glasses of wine.  But more than anything else, the atmosphere around them was thick with laughter, bubbling with banter, and rich in conversation.  I have always wanted a table like the two of them... only married to the consistency of evening meals of my childhood. 

In my dreams, every meal will flow with laughter and love and we will walk away wholly filled but in reality, most nights these days are spent hearing ourselves repeat, “Stop talking, take a bite. Stop talking, take a bite,” over and over…and over again. Tis the woes of having four voracious talkers who seem to be satisfied by words expended and not actual physical sustenance.  Perhaps someday.

For now, we practice “The Table” by opening ours up to whomever needs a meal as often as our little family is able. We welcome people to our table, paper plates and all.  I give thanks for the way I’m like Jesus and able to make meals to feed 5000--with leftovers, and for the Instant Pot, which makes it all possible in half the time, because let’s be honest, I’m not that much like Jesus.

Author Shauna Niequist says so beautifully in her book Bread & Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table with Recipes

“We don't come to the table to fight or to defend. We don't come to prove or to conquer, to draw lines in the sand or to stir up trouble. We come to the table because our hunger brings us there. We come with a need, with fragility, with an admission of our humanity. The table is the great equalizer, the level playing field many of us have been looking everywhere for. The table is the place where the doing stops, the trying stops, the masks are removed, and we allow ourselves to be nourished, like children. We allow someone else to meet our need. In a world that prides people on not having needs, on going longer and faster, on going without, on powering through, the table is a place of safety and rest and humanity, where we are allowed to be as fragile as we feel.” 

While there are tricks to stretching food, saving time and creating an atmosphere of soulful abundance that I’ll share along the way, the only absolutely necessary piece to “The Table” is the invitation. You don’t even really need a table, only an open door and willing hands, and in time, The Table will become the heart of your home.