The Kitchen Table

After almost 11 years of marriage, we've replaced many of the items we first purchased as newlyweds. Mainly because I've been a discontented girl who wants something bigger, better, different!

Praise the Lord that He's working on me in this area.

One of the few things we still have is our kitchen table. 10 and a half years ago I loved her. She was simple and pretty and at that time, the chairs and base of the table were white. Then I went through an Americana phase (for like 7 years) and decided to paint the chairs blue and the table base maroon. And then sand 'er for a more rustic look.


My sister just gave us her "old" dining table and chairs. It's a beautiful set. We're blessed to have it. Since it doesn't fit in our kitchen, it's in our living room. Our old set is still in the kitchen and the other day I was sitting there.

The table was cleared off. I was alone at the table. And I just started looking at it.

After 10 years, the finish is wearing. The top is yellowing. The chairs are a little more rickety as they've been used to sit on, stand on, and used as saw horses for these last 10 years.

I sat there with my cup of coffee and was overwhelmed with memories of the 10 years I've had sitting at this table.

At age 18 I served my first Christmas Eve dinner on this table. A roast with lumpy gravy and lumpy mashed potatoes. There were three of us. My sweet husband Josh, myself and...my dad. Neither of them complained about the food. Looking back, knowing now that that was the last Christmas Eve I'd have with my dad, I wish I hadn't worried about the food and concerned myself more with showing my dad how glad I was to have him spending the evening with us.

So many meals at this table. So many hands held in prayer, in thanks to God for another meal He provided for us. This table has heard many days of laughter. So many days of tears.

Many evenings with family and friends playing cards, eating snacks. It's had a few drinks knocked over on it. Some pencils flying across it during games (where I'm losing.)

During the days when I didn't keep up my house, this table has been covered in papers, laundry or dirty dishes for days on end. Oh, who am I kidding? I still don't keep up with my house, so there are still days where paper and laundry pile up on 'er.

Many mornings and evenings spent discussing our goals, our plans, our dreams. This table has been here through our best times. Our worst times. The table where I laid my head down and cried...bawled when we got home from vacation after my dad died.

Our friends and family have come over and shared their hopes. Their dreams. Their fears and their tears.

We've listened and loved at this table.

I walked in many times to see our Beagle standing on the table. Sitting on the table. Laying on the table. Man, I miss that girl.

There was the day I came home and found blue papers on the table. Divorce papers. Papers that shook me. The table held them. I never wanted to. They were there for awhile. I chose to ignore them and ignore the fact that my life was spiraling downward. It took me quite some time but with the love and patience of an amazing man and the love and prayers of family and friends, I realized that being married to Josh was the best thing. Ever. Those divorce papers, they were shredded.

This is the table where our girls have sat to eat their first foods of Cheerios and Rice Cereal. They've pounded their chubby little fists on the table and I'm pretty sure there's just permanent greasy little prints where they sit.

Many pictures have been colored with crayons or markers thus marker stains have bled through onto the table. This used to be bother me. It doesn't anymore.

Each month for over 10 years I've sat here to pay bills, some months wondering where in the world will the money come from to pay these bills? and other months in awe that there's an abundance. The Lord...He provides. Always.

I've had scrapbook supplies piled oh so high on top of our table. Josh has had engine parts and grease all over our table.

Josh and I have spent many mornings sharing the silence while we read our Bibles and drink our coffee, him eating breakfast, me not. He always puts one foot on my chair and it drives me up the wall. Our new table makes this impossible for him to do. I'll probably miss it in some weird way.

She's no heirloom. No one will want it when we die. It's nothing special. But I've grown up with this table over the last 10 years and I'm deciding not to part with her.