The Table

At some point we all have to step out of the shadows, walk to up to the table, pull out the chair, sit, and face the truth.

At some point, we all know our persistent resistance is futile. But, in the meantime, we stand back, resist the chair, stand in the shadows with our fears and lies, and enable our continued suffering. It is as if we feel we deserve it, or do not deserve better. Maybe however, it is our weakness, and fear of the work to be done. Call is lazy, call it fear. What is our truth?

So we stand back, in the shadows of our regret, in the shadows of our shame, and our ill-attempts. We know in our hearts we are not giving our best efforts, we know we are cutting the corners, lying to ourselves, just doing what we need to, just to get by.

Deep in our hearts, we know those half-baked efforts only make it worse and drag out the inevitable. Name your thing, that thing that haunts you. It owns you, until you sit at the table.

So, move to the table, pull up the chair, for there is a reckoning approaching. There will never be a time like this present time in our lifetime, in generation’s lifetimes. There is a storm of all storms heavy on the horizon. Can you feel it ?

It is late September as I write this, and the winds of change are approaching, and I speak not of Autumn. There is an evil in the day’s shadows, and it is about to come face to face with us, and our maker, at the table.

Over the past 3 years I have seen things I cannot un-see. I have been forced to accept things I could not initially believe. These things, . . . . . I had to pull myself up to the table, and just weep. Something had to change.

It owns us all, until we can say we have honestly pulled our chair up snugly to the table, our shadows gathered in open offering hands, and sat with the man, at The Table.

Hear the voice of love that's calling
There's a chair that waits for you
And a Friend who understands
Everything you're going through

But you keep standing at a distance
In the shadow of your shame
There's a light of hope that's shining
Won't you come and take your place

And bring it all to the table
There's nothing He ain't seen before
For all your fear, all your sorrow and your sadness
There's a Savior and He calls
Bring it all to the table

He can see the weight you carry
The fears that hold your heart
But through the cross you've been forgiven
You're accepted as you are

So bring it all to the table
There's nothing He ain't seen before
For all your trials, all your worries and your burdens
There's a Savior and He calls
Bring it all to the table

Bring it all
You can bring it all

And come on in, take your place
There's no one who's turned away
All you sinners, all you saints
Come right in and find your grace

Come on in, take your place
There's no one who's turned away
All you sinners, all you saints
Come right in and find your grace

And bring it all to the table
There's nothing He ain't seen before
For all your sin, all your sorrow and your sadness
There's a Savior and He calls
Bring it all to the table

A final thought for the reader,

I write for me, and me alone. These writings are some of my deepest inner struggles and ponderings. They are my stories. These are also stories I have at times told others in a matter of words, and they have resonated there, so I share them here in case they resonate into the troubled or curious corners of other’s lives. I share what I write because if there is any possibility that my words can reach just one person with similar woes or life’s bigger questions, perhaps it can re-weave more than just one tapestry and change more lives exponentially than my own. 

I write about the things in life that I question, things that vex me, that tear at me, that twist me, things that bounce around my mind and rattle my peace and clarity.  Sometimes I start writing these things when there is a mere spark. At first they might be a solitary word that draws in a thought, sometimes it is a phrase from a song, a movie, a poem, a book. I write until that spark settles. It is very often an incomplete thing, something that has to sit dormant, I like to think it is like planting a seed, it has to sit , growing roots below the surface, until it is time to breach the surface asking for more.  I choose to write about them more when they breach, when it is time they seem to call on me again. Like the muse they seem to beckon me, perhaps in a manner of final confrontation to awaken me, and to silence them, by finding honest meaning in their attempt to blossom.

I do this in the great hopes that in my final days my last breath can be a peaceful exhale, and not an anxious final gripping and denying struggle for the things I denied resolving. This method fuels my life, may it fuel yours as well. 

As Hunter Thompson was once quoted, "One of the few ways I can almost be certain I'll understand something is by sitting down and writing about it. Because by forcing yourself to write about it and putting it down in words, you can't avoid having to come to grips with it. You might be wrong, but you have to think about it very intensely to write about it. So I use writing as a learning tool. "