Come to the Table: What do you have to settle?

“Come now, let us settle the matter,” says the Lord. “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.”

—Isaiah 1:18

“Oh, no! Look what you did!”

“I didn’t do it. You did it!”

I heard my tween-aged daughters bickering below in the kitchen.

“Hold on a minute,” I said to their grandmother, Dottie, who was on the other end of my phone conversation. “What’s going on?” I called down to the two.

“She knocked over the nail polish remover,” one admitted.

“Oh, no! I’ll need to call you back,” I told Dottie, as I rushed down the stairs to settle the matter.

Upon entering the kitchen, my eyes went straight to the puddle of polish remover that had stripped the stain from my dining table. My cheeks flushed and nostrils flared. Angry words and a harsh reprimand spewed from my mouth. My table was ruined, and I couldn’t afford to buy another. I was upset. I liked the table. I enjoyed how it shined when I polished it with Pledge. It was special to me, the only family dining table we had ever used.

When I returned to my phone conversation with Dottie and explained to her what had happened, she responded, “I understand you’re upset, but let me tell you something. I have a coffee table that the grandsons used to play on. They rolled their little cars and trucks back and forth across it, leaving behind nicks and grooves. Now that they are older and no longer play on it, the coffee table has become more precious to me because they left their mark there. I am reminded of them every time I look at it.”

Her words gave me pause, but at the time I wasn’t “feeling it."

Many years have passed since that day. All my children have grown up, gotten married, and now have children of their own, blessing me with 10 grandchildren. I never did replace the table, and it has been a challenge to get all of us around it for the holidays. The tabletop has taken on more scrapes and bruises and even a stray Sharpie mark, left by my grandson. If you look hard enough you’ll see numbers and words engraved in the soft wood. When company comes I always cover the ugly scars with a tablecloth.

Right before Thanksgiving my Pastor did a four-week sermon series called Blessed Families. To add to the theme, he situated on the platform a dining table and chairs that he planned on giving away at the end of the series. Each week church attenders were encouraged to enter their name into the drawing. Pastor had done this same thing a few years back at Thanksgiving time. I entered my name then in the drawing for the beautiful harvest table, but my name wasn’t chosen. Surely this would be my year. After all, the Lord knew how badly I needed a table. Every Sunday I faithfully entered my name into the drawing.

But a few weeks in, I started to question if the table were right for me. Is it too big for my kitchen? Will the color match? What will I do with my old table? Will I be able to part with it?

As I studied its nicks and grooves, I saw Lego towers and homework ciphering, birthday parties and everyday dinners. I heard the voices of my children recounting the highs and lows of their day. And suddenly I knew that Dottie had been right all along. The imperfections of my old table now made it more precious to me.

We had lived life on that table. It’s where my children were fed their first spoonfuls, where I fed grandchildren too. Where we said grace more times than I can count, wrote wedding invitations and Christmas cards. Figured budgets and college applications. Had serious conversations and settled matters. It’s where we celebrated Christmas morning and lit a birthday cake for Jesus.

I talked to God about the table. If You think I should replace it, then let me win the drawing. If not, that’ll be okay. You know best, Lord.

As it turned out, my name wasn’t chosen. But through it all, the Lord reminded me that I was. He chose me, and I am a lot like my table, imperfect with nicks and grooves, scarred and sin-stained. But that is why He came that first Christmas—to settle the matter. Because of His great love and the work He did for me on the cross, no longer does He see my imperfections. Instead, I am precious in His sight.

Jesus, thank You for choosing me and forgiving me of all my ugly sins, even my angry outbursts. Thank You for polishing me and making me shine white like snow. When others look at me, may they only see Your reflection, as in a tabletop. And this year, Lord, when we sing “Happy Birthday” to You, I will also sing “Happy Birthday” for my rebirth in You. Thank You, Jesus.