I love preparing tables and places . . . making space to receive another. In this time I pause to prepare myself . . . the table within . . . to receive God present.
I'm struggling with this table . . . I don't yet have the knowledge (computer expertise) to make it pretty or personal or welcoming. The language is new and you can't see my eyes . . . more importantly I can't see yours . . .
Something old (me) is being made new . . . this is a good thing . . . this is always a good thing!
posted by Grandma and Grandpa Benson at
9:40 AM
3 Comments:
I DO see your eyes... just not in the way I'm used to. It seems we have been reduced. How can I adequately express myself to you without the use of my hands, my face, my vocal inflections?
And yet, there is something sweet here in reduction-land, something sweet but evasive. I can't put words to it.
Your table is lovely. If anything, what you see as its imperfections make it feel more like home. I like that metaphor. In a sense, we're all preparing tables for one another here, but we leave before our guests enter the room. In this way, the feast is pure gift -- an offering from self to other without agenda or expectation. The absence of your eyes lets us focus on your footprints -- the way the napkins are folded just so, the fragrance of the candles, the unnoticed speck of dust on the windowsill. There is one peculiar sweetness in being cared for from a distance, and another in the caring and preparation itself.
We love your table, as we love to know that you feel welcome at ours.
I have just started in blogland too and I am finding it hard to put things forth and then not see faces responding. I emphathise (sp?) with you! We are traveling together! This is a vulnerable place and I am glad for some sacred sojourners in it.
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