The Table

Last week at our small group we gathered around a small table and were invited to bring whatever we had and, figuratively, place it on that table in front of God.  The time we spent praying together was very good.  As I went home from there, I was struck by the reality that I did not put much on the table.  A few things, but I did not want to monopolise the time with my own stuff.  I could have filled that table; heaped stuff on there till the table broke! In fact sometimes the problems are a bit like the snow we have been having lately – it just keeps coming.  You shovel and clear a path and before morning it is all filled up again.  No end it seems. 


But, you know how it is; politeness keeps us from unloading all our stuff in front of others.  Some reservation is likely the proper thing to do under the circumstances.  But not as far as what we put on the table before God.  We won’t run out of time or burden him by spending long periods of time telling him the details of our life where we need him to work.  He is a very gracious host. 


As a result of the time we spent together last Wednesday, I went home and wrote.  Poetry seemed the only way to express some of the things I felt.


The Table


The table waits. In linen

A long expanse of pure white

And all around

A ragtag crowd clutches

Great green garbage bags

Bulging with broken goods. 

We’ve come in hope.

There was a promise; this stuff

Could be exchanged here

For better things.


We are afraid.

We thought it was a yard sale.

He said to bring whatever we had,

That we could leave it here,

Our junk,

And get stuff remade like new,

For nothing.

The spotless white linen

Will be spoiled

By what I’ve brought.


I have a heart dripping

With brokenness.

It’s sure to stain.

There are words oily with

The dark lubrication of half truths.

Here are puzzles with no picture guide,

Missing pieces.  Dust gatherers.

There are rags infected

By disease awaiting cures

Hope having died in little steps.


Jesus, how dare I

Soil your table with such filth?

How can I spread such piles

Of worthless junk before you?

I should have brought my finest stuff

But had none.

You say, “Don’t worry,

The invitation stands. Come. 

Give me your broken stuff”

 So here I am.  Here is everything I am.



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0 responses to “The Table

  1. Barb W

    Thanks for that, Linea. The image of that over-laden table brings a new perspective for me. What an awesome Savior we have that the invitation STILL stands even when we “heap” all that fills us with worry and concern. It’s hard to accept that we can just put it all on the table and leave it there, feeling lighter, and with peace that denies understanding! Blessings to you and yours….