“Well—that was a miracle.” I smile at my husband as I wipe down the dining room table. He returns my words with arched eyebrows and a look of curiosity.
As he puts away the game pieces, I chuckle. “We just had an impromptu game night—and no one melted down! That’s miraculous for our crew.”
Our crew consists of a twelve-year-old, a ten-year-old, and an eight-year-old. And we don’t do spontaneous game nights. We struggle to get through a planned board game. Whether it’s boredom or tears or cheating, something will happen to cause one or many of our family members to declare: “Not fair!” “This is dumb.” “I quit!” And with these declarations comes the regret. “Why do we even try?”
And yet—tonight we gathered around the table and played. We laughed. We strategized. We celebrated wins. We survived. We even had fun. What a wonder.
For many years, we’ve been sitting down to meals at this wobbly, scratched up seven-by-four. This table has served up meals that produced delight and many a meal that resulted in tears and hunger strikes. What child doesn’t like macaroni and cheese? Mine—apparently.
With more disasters than triumphs, I’ve been tempted to give up on that old table. Let’s just order pizza and watch a movie together. Or Let’s just go grab some fast food. But the table continues to draw us back. For all our debacled menus and meltdowns, we’ve had a few moments like tonight—when we chose to gather around the table to eat a meal. And then linger.
I’m learning to savor these moments. They’re sacred.
A friend of mine gifted me a shirt that reads, “In a Martha world, be a Mary.” This familiar story reminds us all to slow down and focus on what really matters. Luke sandwiched this story between the parable of the good Samaritan and Jesus’ instructions to the disciples on how to pray. I find this positioning so appropriate. We are called to love our neighbor and to love God. And in the middle—to linger.
The story begins with Martha inviting Jesus into her home. Martha busies herself in the kitchen cooking while Mary is at the feet of Jesus listening. Understandably, Martha becomes frustrated with her sister. Why isn’t she helping me, she fumes. I imagine her clanging some pots and pans for effect. Perhaps she sighs loud and long at the kitchen threshold. But Mary either ignores her sister’s social cues or misses them entirely.
Luke writes that Martha is “distracted.” I’d never thought about that. Here she is mad at her sister for not helping; she probably thinks Mary is the one distracted. In frustration Martha asks Jesus to help her out. Expecting a reprimand for her sister, I imagine she was surprised to hear Jesus say, “Mary has chosen what is better.”
She’s sitting at the feet of the Savior. Listening. Lingering. Savoring.
What’s better for our family? Time at the rickety dining room table—that has become my favorite spot in the house—is better. Although the hunger strikes and meltdowns will soon be behind us, we’ve already added other distractions to the menu. Busy schedules and too much homework will vie for our time at the table. But we won’t give up on our time together. We will choose what is better.
Because time at the table allows us to speak into the hearts of our young ones who will one day be twenty-two, twenty, and eighteen. And what I hope they remember is that we spent time together as a family. That we pointed them to Jesus amidst macaroni that cause melt downs and impromptu game nights that resulted in laughter.
I love that old table.
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