The long folding table looked at home in the living room, set festive for the Thanksgiving meal. The dining room table, dressed to match, welcomed eight more people. Nineteen found more than a meal at Ralph and Chris’s home. We all needed a place to belong.
Back in North Carolina with my brothers, I felt like a kid, more than forty years gone, since we’d shared Thanksgiving. Who knows what separates, makes staying away easier than coming together. Sometimes you just have to skip over the questions and get to the table before dinner gets cold, or worse.
This year, Hope and Grace came.
As my brother, Dan, said before heading back home on Friday, ” It was good.”
And it was Good.
Choosing to remember the good that was, to believe for good to come.
Thanksgiving morning I read from Luke 22 in the Message something Jesus said to his disciples, “You’ve no idea how much I’ve looked forward to eating this Passover meal with you…” A few hours later, seated beside my brother, I thought, “I’ve missed you. You’ve no idea how much I’ve looked forward to…”
Remember pushing up the sides of your mashed potatoes, creating a fortress to capture the gravy? Grace, like gravy, fills up the hollows, seeps through the walls.
Thanksgiving’s past. The folding table’s back at church. No more leftovers. All the remains is what matters most, the memory of a simply Good day together, and the reminder that anything’s possible when Hope and Grace come to the table and stay.
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