By 1968, my maternal grandparents were pretty much set in their ways. Grandma still drank her coffee with a piece of biscuit dropped in it and sipped it from the saucer. Grandpa still shaved at the breakfast table, and shared a little coffee-milk with me. They liked things that were, like themselves, dependable, substantial, even durable – things like his old felt hat and a good iron skillet. A stout little wooden container for pipe tobacco for him, and rose colored rouge for her, were about as frivolous as they ventured. Oh, I do recall Grandma fitting into a nice girdle with the help of her two daughters, but maybe it was a necessity; I won’t call that one.

From my earliest memories, even before the 1968 photo, there was always the small, dark, drop-leaf table you see between my grandparents. In the living room where they had family Christmas gatherings, there was usually a fresh-cut cedar tree in the corner where two large picture windows came together. But as they aged, Grandpa and Grandma used the little table to hold a less conspicuous Christmas tree. I’m sure this was solely for the enjoyment of the grandchildren, as their only pleasure in life was, by then, just being there for their family, as much as they could.

When I was small, and I mean small enough to play under that table, I enjoyed feeling like I was in my own room, with the leaves, or sides, of the table dropped, partially enclosing me from the rest of the room. Betsy McCall paper dolls cut from the McCalls Magazine my grandma saved for me, were lined up along the baseboard, as I played the time away. I remember Grandpa sitting nearby, never interfering with my play. Just there, with me.

As Grandpa grew older, he sat for longer periods of time in a rocker in the den. Grandma spent more time in the kitchen, as good cooks do, and where the den television was in sight. But I’ll always remember him best in those picture windows, at the end of that long, scarcely furnished living room. Inexpensive furniture – a couch, the 60’s trio of two end-tables and a small coffee table, a couple of chairs, and that wonderful table – barely filled a room of hardwood floors and beige walls. A built-in, but fake, fireplace with a modest mantle completed it, and was the only decorative part of the room. Even the table I loved was plain.

I think I always knew this drop-leaf table was from Grandpa’s family, but until my adult years, I didn’t realize it was made by his father. The table had stayed with my mother who displayed it in her own living room. It, like my grandparents, is substantial, quietly fitting in with any decor, solid and dependable. It was knowing my great grandfather made it, and the memories of playing under it, that made me ask if I might own it after Mama.

I like knowing some things never change – things like a mother’s love, the taste of good coffee, the smell of pipe tobacco and a real Christmas tree, the look and feel of solid wood – old wood. My table has no carvings other than a minimal turning near the bottom of the legs. I have searched underneath for any sign of dating, and I’ve concluded it was possibly salvaged from some other pieces of good substantial furniture, or perhaps doors. The supports for the leaves are primitively made, being cut from the center of both side skirts, and swivel to support each leaf as they are needed. The finish is just as it always was, too dark to identify the kind of tree sacrificed for the life of the table. I doubt I ever refinish the plain little drop-leaf table. Many good times lie under that finish.

Not surprisingly, the table is like the ancestors who left it. Substantial, modest, and sensible in form and function, Grandpa was our rock, and Grandma our cushion, for so many sessions of life-building trials. They loved God, and did their best to follow Him. They wanted to be as unchangeable and dependable as the God they loved and served. Life is about change for the most part; I am just so thankful some things – especially God – never change.

Speaking of change, (although I wasn’t really speaking of change), but now that I think of it, the development date stamped on the fading photo is June, 1969. Pictures were snapped back then without knowing for months whether or not you got a good shot, or even if the film would develop at all. Many important events and times weren’t written about, and forgotten, because the people who were living those times either didn’t think it was important, or they had faith that photographs would last a lot longer than they do. Thanks be to God that He provided a written record, His Word, of our grand inheritance and His unchangeable nature.

So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, (Hebrews 6:17) ESV.

I’d still like to hear more about your tables. I enjoyed the pictures Linda Pugh sent of her great-great-grandfather, two very old and beautiful side tables, and an unusual chair that I believe is from the days of worshipping in folding chairs. Next coffee break blog, I plan to reminisce about the coffee table in my husband’s office/John Deere room/den. It’s had a heap of living around it. Until then, have a great week!