Monthly Archives: May 2025

Come To the Table: Part 5 in Old Tables and Old Times

26 Monday May 2025

Posted by in In Memory, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Recall the kitchen table of your childhood — the one you knew held your next meal and where you’d find your people. Are you picturing a chrome table with armless chairs? Perhaps a large modern one, with a highly polished finish and upholstered chairs; or a dull oak table, worn with serving generations before you, comes to mind. If you are fortunate, you have something firmly seated in your mind where loved ones (whether two of you or twenty) gathered to share a meal. Perhaps like me, you also recall sitting at the same table doing homework, listening to the AM radio station, telling your teacher in your imagination, oh yes I can concentrate with the music playing. Are the children in your memory stifling giggles because daddy said “you don’t laugh at the table“; or are they racing to see who gets dessert first? Was there a greasy pair of salt and pepper shakers, a butter dish with little finger prints? Was the blessing asked; was the food cooked by one, or a team effort? Were there paper napkins, or paper towels; a tablecloth, or a bare table under your plates? Did everyone get matching glasses, or was there a mix of mishap leftovers, as mine are now? Was there chaos, or peace? Each of us will likely remember something different than the next. I am willing to bet, however, the one thing shared by all, is that there was a particular time for this gathering. The time may have been something-o’clock on the dot; or not timed by the clock on the wall, but understood by all concerned, that it would be according to the sky. When the work load consumed all the daylight hours, supper was timed when you saw dark approaching. Such was often the farmer’s suppertime. But, most importantly, in spite of it all — with the members around that table being imperfect — was there a sacrifice made and love shown, by the presence of the table?

This Sunday morning of Memorial Day weekend, our wise and kind brother who presided over the Communion table, appropriately pointed out how Memorial Day reminds us to remember the sacrifices that have been made. At the table of communion, we are also remembering — remembering the life and love, the sacrifice and selflessness in the death of our Savior Jesus Christ. Unlike our home kitchen tables, where everything and anything in our arms lands on the table, our Lord’s table has been cleared of everything except the unleavened bread and the fruit of the vine, the body and blood of Jesus. A place for His children to gather, at the appointed time, to share the meal prepared by the Father; this is our memorial time to honor Him — Jesus. Where I worship, we do this every Lord’s Day. I look forward weekly, to gathering around this table and quietly seeking Him.

As for the table of my childhood, I looked forward to being called to that table too. Even in the midst of complaining and criticizing, falling apart and falling from grace, there was an abundance of laughter and love, gratitude and grace offered, sharing and shining, as our family gathered to partake of Mama’s good cooking and live out the forgiveness we always sought from one another.

Sitting on my vinyl covered chair at our chrome kitchen table, I heard my daddy promise me fifty dollars if I was the valedictorian of our eighth grade class. In the spring of 1967, I scooped up that fifty bucks. Many promises were made and some were broken around the table; birthdays were celebrated and vacations planned at the table. Tears were shared, but so were stories of achievement; Weekly Reader was enjoyed, report cards discussed, as were articles in the Ledger and Times. No matter what the mood, regardless of the activity, one thing stood sure — we were part of a family who shared in a common meal, and everyone ate the same thing because that’s what Mama had fixed. And when Sunday morning breakfast was finished, we left the table to fight over the bathroom time, to get ready for church, where we would be gathered around the greatest table of all time. I urge you to hear His call and come to the table.

And when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, “Take, eat; this is My body which is broken for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” In the same manner He also took the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood. This do, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.” For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death till He comes. (1 Corinthians 11:24-26) NKJV

The reason we observe Memorial Day each year is to set aside a time to formally remember and honor the sacrifices of American military personnel who have died while serving their country. My sincere gratitude to them for taking from their lives, to make our lives more secure, free, and enjoyable! Thank you, to those men and women, for what you have brought to our tables; for the homeland where we gather around these, our tables; and for the privilege to gather freely in our churches.

Running From Bears and Hiding in Hope

19 Monday May 2025

Posted by in Faith, MONDAY MUSINGS

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An excellent lesson last evening on fear, and conquering it through the promises of Isaiah 41:10, reminded me of a draft I had started a few years ago. I brought it out and brushed it up, so we will take a break from the “Old Tables and Old Tales” series.

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10) ESV

Stifled sobs from my shaking body awakened my husband, who in turn woke me from a nightmare. I couldn’t stop sobbing, even after getting to my feet to shake the troubling images from my head. I went straight for my phone not even caring what time it was. My son answered quickly, and by that time I was in the kitchen where I saw it was only 10:45. But the depth and distress of the dream made it seem like the middle of the night.

The question of where do dreams come from has never been answered to my satisfaction. It seems the mind just goes on random thought tangents with no boundaries. While common sense is sleeping, the little imps of imagination play. Obviously, some dreams are the result of fears – even those we have hidden away. Like dreams, real life can surprise us around any corner with a jack-in-the-box, either scary or funny. It’s only natural to hide from one and hope for the other.

I recall a recurrent nightmare from childhood. Three times at least, over a span of time, I dreamt that I was in my aunt’s house, the square-style house with four rooms all connected without a hall. You can start in the kitchen, go left into the bedroom, turn left into the next bedroom, turn left and enter the living room, then left again into the kitchen where you started. In my dream, there was a wooden highchair in the kitchen. A bear would begin to chase me, through the circuit of those rooms, around and around. Just as it was gaining on me, I would dive under the highchair.  The bear in my dream would stop, sniff around the chair, and the pounding of my heart would wake me. I’m pretty sure I know the fear behind the bear; and the hiding place being in that particular house, had to be that I always knew I was safe and loved there. Love conquers fear.

The gut-wrenching fear that spurred my more recent nightmare is one I believe all parents have in common. We do not want to see our children lose their hope – oh not the hope of Christmas Eve or birthday eve when kids know a fun-filled morning will follow – but true hope, an expectation, a belief that some yet unseen, good thing can and will happen. As adults we have seen enough ice-cream cones plop, to make us guard our hope. We’ve had earthly plans and hopes fall through, and we’ve also seen promises from God fulfilled as He held our world together. This is our hope to keep on trying. That’s what we want for our children isn’t it; to experience enough good so that good becomes their expectation. And to know their hope is tethered to the sure promises of God.

I believe the incidence of mental illness, suicide, and physical ailments are directly related to the loss of hope – hope that there is something, someone, greater than this shaky world. The natural tendency is to hope in this world’s goods and accomplishments, because that’s where we started as children, when we thought hope was in wishes. With maturity, the hopes and losses get bigger. Love, friendship, trust – the big ticket items –  hurt much more if lost, than getting the wrong Barbie, or having your birthday party rained out. I remember my Mama telling me it was so much easier to treat my skinned knee with a bandaid and a kiss, than to treat my heart aches. I didn’t appreciate that until I had children of my own. After enough bumps and bruises from this world, we gain appreciation for stability – yoked, tethered, and anchored to our true and living God – all-knowing, unmoving, and strong enough to stop the bears that cause our fear. And we want to see our young realize this true hope – the strengthening, helping, upholding hand of God. (Isaiah 41:10)

What we never want to see as they grow up, is one slap, one punch, one blow after another, until they don’t feel they can get up. We want them to keep being excited about life; to know that good overrules evil, and right is never wrong. We want to see the gleam in their eyes until we close ours the final time. Their happiness is more important to us than our own. That is why we must, MUST show them the hope that never fails. We must take the time to talk our God knowledge out loud, to show them real hope lives, and it sure as shootin’ ain’t in the shifting times we’re living! God gave us a world of beauty, fun, friends and abilities; but more than that, He has promised that no matter how this world goes, His children have Him walking them through it all.

I’ll wake up one morning, far from those nightmares, where fears are no more. No sobbing, no shaking, no heartaches and no dashed hopes. I know this because I have read God’s promises, along with the proof of His faithfulness. No matter how much we have now, we will never have it all, until we rest in the Lord. Until then, nothing in this life is certain. We’ll keep running from room to room until the bear dies and the house is turned over to God.  I thought I had turned my fears over to God, but apparently some still simmered in the background, producing bad dreams of lost hope. If my hope is really in the Lord, I won’t be hiding in fear with my heart pounding, but hidden in hope, away from fear’s chase, secure in Jesus Christ.

So, who is the bigger giant here? Is it hope, or is it fear?

Fear is big that is for sure! But hope stands higher as the cure

Fear chases like an angry bear. Hope is the rock that seals his lair.

Fear is strong, but stronger yet, is the hand of God – the help we get.

Fear can slap you to the ground, Hope in the Lord will make you sound.

Fear is daring, I can’t deny. But for our hope the Savior died.

My first favorite verse of scripture was Isaiah 40:31. But verse 30 includes our youth, so I have amended my favorite to include both verses. I love my children, and my nieces and nephews so much; and I pray their fears are conquered, their hope in this life realized, and their true hope in the Lord to be more than they dared ever dream.

“Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:30-31) ESV

A Hebrew lexicon explanation of “but those who wait” is the word “Qavah” meaning “to wait, look for, hope, expect”. (Strong’s Hebrew 6960)  My prayer is that we, all generations, will hope in the Lord, that we will run, walk, and soar with the eagles.

The Round Table: Part 4 in “Old Tables and Old Times”

12 Monday May 2025

Posted by in Children, Family, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Roundtable discussions “are informal gatherings characterized by equal participation, active listening, and the exchange of ideas…roundtables encourage a more open and interactive dialogue, often facilitated by a moderator.” That’s what the internet says. In a child’s world, it is an endless sphere of participation (play-like or real), activity (of reaching, climbing, circling), and interactive ideas (imagination as troops and trucks run their courses of construction and destruction).

As the 1960s were ending, people were starting to see the value in antiques. Not museum people with historical antiques – regular Joes who had the new age, moderate-income, furnishings of the 50s and 60s. Such was the time when my mother was led to an auction by her friend whose son had gone into the “antique business”. Looking for old gems hidden by dust and paint, in need of some repair perhaps, became the weekend hobby for many. Sadly, folks were realizing grandparents had given up real value for light weight, inexpensive furnishings. In my family’s case, fires had taken most of the keepers, and the thought of finding something similar, was enticing. One find for my mother and her friend that day, was a sizable table covered with what we called antiquing, which was enamel paint covered by a dark glaze. Covered in, I believe, early 70s green, with a small chip out of one hinged area, was a coffee table with leaves dropped to the floor, which when raised, made a complete circle. A drawer in each end made the table even more useful. Mama bought it. And the seven grandchildren of her future benefitted from the purchase in the many decades to follow. Her great grandchildren, as well as friends, continued to find pleasure in the playground of the roundtable world. I am so thankful the table was saved from the fire that took my parents’ home in 1978.

Before the round table went to live at my parents’ house, her friend had her son to “strip and refinish” it. This brought out the beautiful solid maple finish of its original state, which is still its condition today – plus the many scratches, dents and wear of four generations since then. I believe my son was the first to put a scratch in Granny’s lovely table, with a toy (seems like it was one of those little silver-colored pistols, but could easily have been one of the hundreds of little animals that have trekked the terrain of the table land; he thinks it was his Hot Wheels racing). My daughter stashed “office papers” and crayons in the drawers as she opened and closed them a thousand times in her world of teaching and office work.

Next came my sister’s first child, a girl, who I am told, turned a long handled bell (another of Mama’s collections) upside down and hammered it into the table top several times. Sister’s second child, a boy, added his own marks of character, playing many sessions of Old Maid; as well as adding his sons (you see the younger one on the table in the photo above), to the activity of his Nanny Betty’s/Aunt Trisha’s table. I recall my brother’s first daughter especially enjoying the Christmas trinkets and music boxes Granny placed on the table. By the time he had more children coming along, Mama had passed the drop-leaf table on to me, and redecorated her living room. How in the world did she have the courage to place a new glass-topped table at child level? Surprisingly, it did survive. OH! That’s right, it wasn’t a round table. Far less activity could be had with four corners in the way, a smaller surface, and – like the glass-bottomed look-out towers – who can put their weight on something that looks invisible?

In my house the old drop-leaf round table continued to supply new ground for race cars, farm equipment, horse racing, army battles, board games, play-doh creativity, coloring and painting, checkers, and climbing in general. Six of my great nieces and nephews have made their own history of discoveries, battles, and masterpieces on the round table. Our friend ‘little man Ryan’ had his own activity for a short while before potty training, but we will just leave it at that. He also drove Match Box cars around and around that table, giving me great pleasure as my mother’s table continued making happy days for those we love.

I see the days of discovery for our round table coming to a close. I do hope the “informal gatherings characterized by equal participation, active listening, and the exchange of ideas” continues over this, as well as all our tables, for years to come. But it was the endless imagination of those tots who made this table so precious to me. Complete with its dents and dings, one drawer now out of function, and one detached slide-out leg that holds the leaf on that side, I have plans for repair and passing it on to someone who appreciates solid value. It is truly vintage now, and due to age, likely could soon be antique, but surely has some good days ahead in her. She now holds books, pens, and the trappings of an avid John Deere man. She comfortably holds the weight of great nephews; she doesn’t mind our feet being propped upon her, nor popcorn, coffee cups, and sippy cups.

Well, my coffee has grown cold but I have enjoyed my short trip back over the 55 or so years since my mother brought the round table home. Her own nieces and nephews will testify that she had a roundtable approach to life that carried over into the grandchildren years. If she loved anything, it was children and watching them learn. Imagination spurs learning and she was delighted to turn her house over to them to grow and learn all they could. Her love surrounded them as they surrounded the table; her guidance encouraged them as they found acceptance and inspiration to be their best. I look at the softly curved feet of the table, the scratches and dents, the missing pieces; and I long to see a world that is as willing to sacrifice parts of itself for the good of others; a world that is strong for its children and softly holds them when they need it; a world like its Creator intended it to be.

Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. (Galatians 6:2) NKJV

The Do-all Table – Having Its Purpose, Earning Its Keep: Part III of “Old Tables and Old Times”

03 Saturday May 2025

Posted by in MONDAY MUSINGS

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Dreary, cool, and not what we want to see for the first weekend of May, is this Saturday morning weather. So, with a cup of Maxwell House, I am looking forward to telling you about my Do-all table.

I may have mentioned before that I have a profound fondness for old tables. I have made myself – ok, inadequate space made me – remove a few tables from the house in past years. My daughter now owns the square parlor table that came from my great-aunt and uncle’s home. I’ve sold the mahogany version with metal ball feet, that my husband and I found in an antique store (oh how I loved that table)! And, there is a smaller, walnut side table still in the attic. Why, I do not know. The little oak and metal ice-cream parlor table and chairs were taken by the mom of my son’s good friend. I bought it in an antique store for our breakfast nook while we were building, but it wound up in our sunroom, where I accumulated a couple more tables, and as you can see, it needed a much more worthy home – which it found. Now, our house is not large, so a table needs to pay for its room and board with some practical purpose in order to remain. Thus, the old painted drop-leaf table (you’ve seen a many of them in all kinds of used furniture stores) has kept its footing, by being so versatile.

Usually seen in its original dark varnished finish, mine had been painted with a cream enamel, as were the four chairs we bought with it in a flea market/antique store. Four chairs were not enough for a table that expands to seat 8-10! But with the two drop-leaf sides down, and the middle extension kept hidden under the table, it becomes a table for two, and a nice work table for puzzles, plant potting, mini green-house beginnings, bunco playing, and of course, having lunch in the sunroom. The expandable feature made it a good breakfast table-turned family-gathering-table, when odd chairs were added. But, when the original chairs proved unstable, my husband (had he caught my penchant for adopting tables?) replaced it with a very stable, perfectly sized, used, table-for-two for the breakfast nook- complete with two sturdy matching chairs. Parting with my old slide-out, drop-leaf, work table was not an option, and it resides in the sunroom to provide all the aforementioned duties.

I have visions of restoring it to the natural beauty it was before the wood and metal-tipped feet were covered with paint; but then where would I put it? There would be a heated discussion if I tried to replace the table my husband bought. I would lose the battle; because I really like it, and couldn’t let it go, either. Do you ever want your cake and eat it too?

I’m sure there are worse things to love than tables; although, I doubt there are many loves as hard to place in your home. You know it’s funny – with all these tables – I still drag out my old card table so often. Seating for the littles when company comes; putting puzzles together in a warmer place while March Madness rages on; and bunco seating, are the times I find the card table most useful. However, I do not like the feel of a card table; it is unsteady. I dislike the touch – cold metal and plastic. I do not like having to fold and put it and the chairs away; closet storage space is as much at a premium in our house as is the floor space for a stable, comfortable, pretty, old table that came from who-knows-where, with a story to tell. The card table was brand new, bought with S&H green stamps, oh so many years ago. No story to tell.

Wood tables, on the other hand, had a story to tell even when they were brand new; they came from a live tree, likely among a forest of friends, and being sawn and planed into a piece of furniture, deserve to be remembered – not ditched. (I do not need to digress into what a wasteful society we are.) I find myself wondering what meals were served on my do-all table, and who first saw it in a catalog or display window perhaps, and said, I must buy this one. Who and why was it distressed with new paint? Would they have guessed it made it perfect for my sunroom? I enjoy giving new purpose to old furniture, whether worthy or not, like us. God’s plan for us, continues to create and recreate in us, a heart of purpose for His glory, and a purpose in our world.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. (Jeremiah 29:11) ESV

I hope you’re enjoying an old table somewhere, with a story to tell and a purpose to serve. Would you believe I have yet another drop-leaf table to share its story? The old maple standby has many years of service and stories to tell. See you then.