I loved the sounds of rain
Small drops sliding down the glass
With the branches flying wild
And the splash as people passed
Dreary days meant mugs of soup
And my mother’s sheltering arms
Tiny glimpses from my childhood
At a table safe and warm
Now the memory reminds me
Of another suppertime
When our Master gave the bread
And blessed a cup filled with new wine
How they sang a song together
About God’s mercy flowing free
Then He safely brought us home
Through the storms of Calvary
When I was a young boy my mom used to bake home made bread. With just the screen door closed on the back of our house that wonderful aroma reached around the neighborhood. By the time mom was pulling the loaves out of the oven I was lining up with my friends to get a slice. As soon as it cooled enough for my mother to cut open a loaf and spread butter on we would gobble it down.
In much the same way people couldn’t wait to see Jesus. One of the great things about His ministry was that all sorts of people felt they could ask Him questions. “Who is my neighbor? How do I inherit eternal life? How many times should I forgive my brother? How can a man be born when he is old? and What is truth?” All these and many more questions Jesus was able to answer because people asked. The words and life of Jesus were so filled with grace that people wanted to ask him about whatever problems they had.
If no one is asking us questions outside of church maybe we need to check if our lives and words have the flavor of grace. Grace that flows from the love of Christ will always find it’s way to someone who is hungry in the same way the fresh baked bread drew us in the kitchen door!
When my mom passed away she left us no money but lots of paperback Agatha Christie mysteries. She also left a few odds and ends of furniture from my great grandmother. My sister took home the stone sundial from the garden and I ended up with an old cherry side table. Besides the table which sat in a side room for years were worn out chairs, a broken footstool and curious table leaves with legs that took up permanent residence in the attic.
One night as I was reorganizing things recently I began to examine the spare table parts thinking maybe I could recut them for shelves. In a flash it came to me like when you suddenly realize where a puzzle piece fits. They were designed to fit snugly into the slots on the old side table! That’s when I remembered why they had seemed strangely familiar. Together they made up the table at which I had sat down to breakfast with great grandmother 60 years ago. Since we were the only two early risers in the family she welcomed me to sit with her if I was good. After eating she delighted in showing me her scrap books filled with clippings from the Chicago world’s fair and of her travels to Australia. It was she who passed along her great sense of adventure for the life that lay ahead of me and behind her. How our world has changed from those long ago days. Bur in my heart rests those sweet memories of a woman who shared her stories . So it isn’t just about
holding on to old dusty furniture that I am writing tonight. It is about a respect and love for others that we once shared as families, communities and as a nation. We learned that life was more than just what we could take from others. What really mattered was sitting down at the table together and learning about the endless possibilities that lay ahead!
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