The Table

There is a special set of furniture in our kitchen. One that is found in most kitchens. A simple table and four chairs. I call it “special” because it has not always been as important as it has become in the last few months.

The table used to be the spot where everything was thrown down when we walked into the house. It became piled with “stuff” and never was the place it was meant to be. We ate out too much, and I never took the time or energy to cook for my family. Because the house just felt like the place we left our stuff while we were living our lives, I didn’t want to be here much. It felt cold. Even after leaving the stress at work, more stress hit me as soon as I walked through the door. But the problem was not my job, not anyone else. It was me. Mommy needed to make the house a home.

Since I came home from work a few months ago, I have slowly started to peel away the years of evidence of a heart misplaced. It was not an easy transition, as I can be incredibly selfish and stubborn. My pride controlled me for the longest time.

But now, part of every day is spent cleaning so that it is a home when my family comes in. Part of every day is spent cooking dinner. Meals are planned. 

Nothing is allowed to be left on the table.

We sit down almost every evening to dinner together. This is our special family time, all of us sitting in the same room. Making memories together around a table that has gone from being a cold, hard storage place to a warm, inviting, loving family table.

This is the evidence of a heart changed.

How is your table?

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