Who is at the Table?

 

Who is at the Table?

Who sits at my table, who eats of my bread?

Is it only “the worthy” whose hunger is fed?

 

Who is handed the menu and offered the fare?

To whom do I say, “No, you can’t sit there!”

 

The table is spread with a glorious feast.

Are invitees “the highest,” excluding “the least?”

 

At the banquet in heaven, which will happen someday,

Will my “rejects” be seated, while I’m turned away?

One More Time

Things I would like to do with Bill one more time:

*ice skate

*sing a duet

*cheer him on in a race

*walk to church holding hands

*fall asleep holding hands

*ride in the car

*take him a freshly baked cookie

*crawl in bed together

*wake up together

*tell each other about our day

*discuss an issue and reach a decision

*work in the garden

*talk while he empties his pockets onto the dresser

*sit in the bathtub and talk

*sit in the double recliner

*give him a bare …whoops…bear hug 

Unforgettable

Isaiah 49:15 says that a mother might forget her child, but God cannot forget us.  This is a great comfort to me, as I know how impossible it is for me to forget my children and grandchildren.

When my daughter Janelle was about 4 or 5, she was hanging out in our bedroom while my husband and I were getting ready for the day.  He and I were discussing various things, and at one point, I said, “I just realized that I have no major projects planned for the month of January.”  In addition to routine events on my calendar, I normally had something I planned to work on each month, and it would be written at the top of the calendar page.  As soon as I finished saying there was nothing major planned, a sweet little voice said in a sad tone, “January 6^th?”  That was her birthday, and she apparently feared I was forgetting it.  In fact, it was written in red on my calendar.

Although I never forgot any of my children’s birthdays, a friend has shared with me, that the year he turned 13, no one in his family remembered.  No one said anything all day, but he was sure it would be remembered at suppertime.  He expected a cake and a present.  But, there was no recognition of the special day.  After supper, he went to his room and cried.  How hurtful it must have been to be forgotten by those closest to him.

This summer my youngest granddaughter (age 5) gave me a map and guided me on a treasure hunt.  She had placed a snack-sized plastic bag filled with sparkly items in a special spot for me to find.  After I found the treasure, she said, “I want you to put the map on the refrigerator, so you will never forget me.”

Oh…my heart!  How could I ever forget you, you precious little doll!

Amazing that the God of the universe remembers each of us individually.  He knows the number of the hairs on our heads (Luke 12:7). That is something I don’t know about the people I love!

I expect to spend a couple of days this week in a hurricane shelter.  God will know where I am.  He has a plan for my life.  He will not forget me.

I Sang

Today in the shower, I was not singing.  I was talking to the Lord about how grieved I am at the loss of my voice.  Essential tremor first robbed me of my singing voice, and it is now working on my speaking voice.  I am actually looking forward to dying, because when I get to heaven, I am going to be able to sing again.

I listed off for the Lord (as though He didn’t already know) all the places I have sung.

 

Church services (no idea how many different locations)

Funerals (from a big church balcony, to a cappella at a grave site and places in between)

Weddings (not sure of number, but in at least 3 states)

Band stands

Dinner meetings

Street corners (almost got arrested)

Prisons

Nursing homes

Mental hospital

Chicago Public Television

World Flower & Garden Show at McCormick Place

Nursing school graduation

Walking home from college

Rocking my babies

Silly songs for kids and grandkids

Working around the house—cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, folding laundry, painting

Driving in the car

Campfires

Christmas caroling every chance I could get

 

Besides solos, I sang in duets, trios, quartets, ensembles, little choirs and big choirs.

I sang a cappella, or accompanied by taped music, piano, organ, guitar or violin.

When I sang, I felt as though there was a direct connection between my heart and my voice.  My sincerest and deepest feelings could come flying out of my mouth.  I want to be able to praise God in that way again.  Now I stand in church during congregational singing trying my best to produce the sound I can hear in my mind.  Once in a rare while a couple of the old notes will come out.  Mostly I quaver and croak…and sometimes, I cry.

Hurricane

Trees bend before your breath,

Water surges on the shores,

Sheets of rain pour from above,

The wind ferocious roars.

 

Nature wreaks its havoc,

On structures built by man,

Collapsing as it wishes,

Defying human plan.

 

Some bow before you trembling,

Others in defiance stand,

But it matters not to you, who are

Both horrible and grand.

Mend Me with Gold

Our love was held in a priceless artifact,

Exquisitely and skillfully formed.

It was so full that it spilled out.

We wished we could bottle it and give it away

To those who didn’t seem to have enough.

 

When the hand of death snatched you away,

It was not the beautiful pitcher that broke.

It was my heart that shattered.

Countless pieces, sharp shards,

Piercing me at every moment and movement.

 

Can the broken be mended and restored?

Artisans reassemble broken pottery,

Filling the cracks with liquid gold.

The damaged piece leaves their hands

Stronger and more beautiful than before.

 

Will the divine potter, master craftsman,

Reassemble my heart, remake me?

Can I emerge stronger and more beautiful?

More conformed to the image of His Son?

Can my heart be mended with gold?

 

A vlog of the same title can be found on youtube:  @ruthchapin8805

The Sacred Space

Being in a sexual relationship is sometimes referred to as “sleeping together.”  But, there is a great deal more to sleeping together than having sex.  When you fall asleep in someone else’s presence, you are allowing yourself to become unconscious along with them and totally vulnerable to them.  You are signaling, “I trust you completely.”  There is something extraordinarily intimate about this mutual vulnerability.

It seems to me that it is a sacred thing to end the day by crawling into the same bed.  Whether there are any words spoken or prayers murmured, there is a sense of “we are in this together. We have made it through another day of both difficulties and accomplishments.”  For the one who believes in a personal God who guides us through life, there is a sense of “we are here together in His love and kindness.  We are not only holding each other.  We are being held by the hand of God.”

I have been pondering that having my husband go into cardiac arrest as we slept side by side can be viewed in two very different ways.

I could be tempted to think of this as death’s cold hand invading our sacred space.  We went to bed together secure in each other’s love and expecting, as we always did, that God would protect us through our time of vulnerability.  Did the specter of death attack while we rested in security and oblivion?

The alternate view is that the hand of God reached into the sacred space and stopped my lover’s heart.  What better time and place to take him than when we were resting in our love for each other and God’s love for us?  Picturing his passing in that way takes away some of the painful sting of death.  My sweetheart moved from one sacred space to another even more sacred…the presence of God.

Either way brings tears.  I have a choice between tears of sorrow or tears of joy.  In truth, my tears are a mixture of both grief and gratitude.

I am writing this in the middle of the night having awakened alone and calling out my love’s name, but also with an awareness of God’s amazing love and care.