Gathered At The Table

Gathered at the Table

Two weeks before Thanksgiving, at a tiny table in the dining room of a run-down rest home, five women of my family gathered. We represented three generations: my mother’s oldest sister, my sister and me (her nieces), and my sister’s two daughters (my own nieces). We were there to celebrate my aunt’s eighty-seventh birthday, and she was not expecting us. We weren’t sure she would know us, but by God’s mercy she did. And she was glad we had come. She did not, however, remember that it was her birthday. No matter. We were celebrating her, not the day.

Long ago my aunt’s house had been the destination of countless family holidays and gatherings. We were embraced in every sense of the word, every time we came. When I think of my aunt and uncle’s home, I remember the comfy corduroy couches, slamming screen doors, sweating glasses of iced tea, fish fries, card games, and laughter. This time the world—and the table we gathered around—seemed much smaller and more grim. But my aunt knew us, and she knew we loved her. Although the table was small, the gathering was not. “Have y’all seen Memaw?” she asked once, referring to her mother who’d been gone more than twenty years. We hadn’t, we told her. Not this time. Later she asked where “the little ones” were. The “littlest” ones in our immediate family—my nieces—were with us at the table, both solidly in their twenties.

Later, thinking of her questions, I realized that for her, we were all still present. The table was full. Her. Us. Us as we used to be (young girls), and the girls as even littler ones. Memaw was there, and I imagine our uncle was too. Maybe one of the gifts of old age and a dimming memory is that all of those you love are never far away. In Christ and in our hearts, the table is full, and not a one is missing.

Where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst.

Matthew 18:20, NASB