One of the topics my husband discussed
with me before we were married was dinner. He was quite adamant about dinnertime.
If possible, our family would always eat together. My husband is serious about food. He loves it.
He loves to look at it, cook it, buy it, read about it, and most
certainly, eat it. Meals are borderline
sacred to him. One of the goals I have in
life is to see dinner as he sees it. No TV dinners in our house. Well, sharing take out Chinese on the floor
might come close.
And so, we have tried to hit this
goal. And I must say, it has been
reached for most of our meals, if not all of them. We do eat together. And for our busy family, it has been stabilizing.
Now, before you begin to have visions
of serene Norman Rockwell type evenings at the dinner table in our home, let me
speak plainly. Dinnertime in our house
is like a war zone. It all comes
out. Whatever anyone is feeling or
thinking, or sometimes digesting, all comes out.
I think at least 50% of our disciplining
occurs at dinnertime. No other meal is
like it. It just brings out the champion
in all of us. Champion sinners, that
is. But sometimes there are bright
moments. Moments that give us hope that
yes, one day, there will be peace at our table.
One evening we were eating a salad
with some beautiful mixed greens. The
different lettuces inspired my husband to wax eloquently about the food. I must admit, a good part of me ignored his
treatise on the salad. This was my
chance to eat without too much interruption.
Now, you must understand something,
the people in our family like to talk. I
know, you are shocked and bewildered.
But yes, it is true. Most of us
like to talk. And this evening it was no
exception. Unfortunately, only the twins
were somewhat engaged in their father’s speech on greens. Everyone else was trying to give their own
speech. And the target audience was Dad.
The dinner chorus was coming to a
crescendo. Everyone was vying for
Daddy’s attention. Until, Liam had had enough. “Dad! Dad!
Tell me some more amazing things! Dad! Dad! Tell me some more amazing things!” He was leaning in to his father, imploring
him to tell him more about the leaves.
Liam’s cries reached forte level and everyone else grew quiet. His father was speaking and telling him
something he had never heard before, and to him, it was amazing, even if it was
about lettuce.
Liam was employing all of his senses
as he learned about lettuce leaves from his father, and he would not be
deterred. He would grasp this information
at any cost. Even at the risk of being
turned away or drowned out. But, his
father heard his cries and saw his earnestness.
When Chris spoke again about the intricacies of the lettuce, Liam became
quiet and meek. He was receiving
instruction from his father.
How often do we cry out with all that
we have for truth? How often do we stay
and fight through the crowd to receive whatever the Giver of Truth will say to
us? How often do we stop speaking and
become quite and listen? When our Father
speaks, do all other voices fall away?
Do we take His words for granted?
Do we say to ourselves, ”Soul, pay attention. Your Father is speaking to you, and His words
are precious.”
Liam ate his precious leaves, as he learned to call them, with relish. Petite purple, dark green, and yellow-green
leaves, all in a delicious flavorful mixture.
We all paused and looked at the lettuce in a new way. The salad was a thing of beauty to those that
lingered long enough to see what my son had seen. He had seen something through his Father’s
eyes.
~Your Fellow Sojourner
O LORD, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with
things
too great and too marvelous for
me.
But I have calmed and quieted my
soul,
like a weaned child with its
mother;
like a weaned child is my soul
within me.
O Israel, hope in the LORD
from this time forth and
forevermore.
(Psalm 131 ESV)
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