Candles flickered with the brush of the evening breeze floating through our Colorado deck, awash with the fragrances of geraniums and roses. It was a beautiful evening, and our table was beautiful as well. Multiple shades of green lettuce in our salad bowl provided a lovely backdrop for the dark-rose cranberries, salted and roasted mahogany pecans, stark-white goat cheese, pungent red onions, and chartreuse chunks of avocado sprinkled here and there. Twice-baked potatoes stuffed full with spinach and bacon adorned each plate next to sizzling chicken, hot from the grill. Crisp homemade whole-grain rolls shone with their glaze of butter. Sparkling cider bubbled in the cut-glass wine glasses.
The stage was set for the occasion of having all my young-adult children home together to celebrate my sixtieth birthday. And as is usual for us, we did our celebrating with a feast.
The excitement of being together once again spilled over into smiles and laughter, rousing conversation, and even tears as we celebrated, once again, what it meant to be us.
My firstborn, Sarah, was home after a summer as a teacher/counselor at an apologetics seminar at a Colorado mountain retreat center.
Joel, her musician/writer brother, was living in Los Angeles, trying to establish a career as a composer of film scores.
Nathan, our “outside the box” boy, was also in LA, working as an actor in TV and commercials and taking his first steps toward becoming a filmmaker.
And Joy, our cherished beloved last child had just finished her freshman year at Biola University.
Clay, my husband, was there, too, of course—my beloved longtime partner in ministry, in business, in creating and nurturing a family. And beside him was our beloved, ever-present golden retriever, Kelsey, hoping for a few crumbs from our table.
“This is what I think of when I think of home.” Sarah smiled as she looked around at the bounty of treasured faces and favorite foods. The others nodded. And I couldn’t stop smiling as we sat down once more around the table that had always been such a source of life to all of us.
Disciples Around My Table
It happened again just a few summers ago. Days before converging on our home for a family gathering together, both of my boys called me.
“Mama, I can hardly wait to get there.”
“What is your favorite expectation about coming home?” I asked each of them.
Both answered with almost the same words, even though they were now separated by two thousand miles!
“It is the feasting every night around the table with delicious home-cooked food, being each other’s best friends, talking about every possible subject and sharing in each others’ lives, needs, stories, and fun—that is my favorite part. I need my people. I want a place to belong. I miss playing with my pack.” (Since choosing our first golden retriever puppy years ago and watching her frolic with her little dog family, we have often referred to our own family as our “pack.”)
