At my kitchen table

I have this farmhouse-style table I was handed down from my brother. It has white legs and a butcher-block top. I absolutely adore it. Because it has seen so much, the surface is worn and gouged in places. There are nicks in the legs and I'm missing two of the six chairs. However, all these things only add to it's charm: it has weathered three families (that I know of) and half a dozen or so relocations and the marks it's life has left behind are a testimony to it's strength and resiliency.

Presently, my table is at a friend's house. While we were forced to sell all our furniture except my son's when we moved into my mother's house due to lack of storage, somehow we managed to hold on to my table and a cabinet.

I read Hebrews 13:1-8 yesterday and verse 2 is sticking with me: "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by doing so some people have entertained angels without knowing it."

I'm learning how to broaden my perception of serving and loving like Jesus by shaking off the misconception that modern conveniences like cars and cell phones are now a necessity to serve in the name of Jesus. And now, that list includes my kitchen table.

It's just a piece of furniture. It's not supernaturally blessed by the Holy Spirit to bestow peace in hearts by osmosis when someone sits at my table, props their arms on it to hold up the hands that are mug-hugging the cup of hot coffee, or when someone lays their head in their hands to sprinkle it's worn surface with tears of fear or frustration. Nope, it can do nothing. It doesn't have a heart or a soul sold-out to Jesus. It doesn't have arms or hands or a mouth. Yet I do have those things.....and I have my Jesus.

Has it been awhile since you were listened to? I mean really listened to? Come to my table....in my heart. Sit down. Relax. Listen to the coffee maker and smell the aroma of hot coffee beans. There's a bowl of apples on the table - they are cold because I just took them out of the fridge. But next to them, you see a small dish of Hershey's Kisses and maybe that sounds better to you....

We make small talk as I fill the small tray of coffee fixin's, and your eyes are focused somewhere in front of you, seeing but not seeing, and whispers on your heart battle for air-time like a tug-of-war between letting it all out or keeping it all inside. You see bible scriptures on the wall and those whispers find a new victim: belief in the truth of God's unconditional love. Maybe tears threaten your resolve then. Or maybe they do when you suddenly smell the pot roast in my slow-cooker as I lift the lid to check on it - it reminds you of your grandmother....Maybe what does you in is the box of tissues that is on the coffee tray I place on the table because it is an loving invitation to let go. Or maybe you manage to hold on a little longer and the dark whispers try to keep you in the dark by choosing the black coffee mug in a defiant gesture against the hope you're afraid to put faith into. Maybe it almost works and the tears are finally tucked and locked away....until you read the etching on the mug...it is Psalm 25....."guide me on your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long." Maybe that's when the tears begin to fall and you finally hear a kind voice say, "I can see you are hurting. What would you like to share about it?"

You feel safe at my kitchen table. Accepted. And loved. But it's not really a table, or coffee. It's not the chocolate or the pot roast. It's not even scriptures on the wall or on the coffee mug, and it most certainly isn't me. It's Jesus. It's the way He weaves faces and places together to love on people, give them hope, and free them from chains and shackles of heartache and pain.

Jesus can use anyone, anywhere, anytime. He doesn't require graduate school or country club memberships or six-figure salaries. All Jesus requires is a humble and obedient heart. He takes care of the rest.

So while my beloved kitchen table is not in my possession and I'm not in my own home to entertain freely, my heart is still my own. Lord, forgive me for my excuses. I shall open the doors of hospitality to my heart, and allow you to orchestrate circumstances to bring people to it that I may be a vessel of verbal hospitality where my physical circumstances limit me. Give me words of hope and love to speak, all for Your glory. Amen.