A Table Before Me

"You prepare a table before me." ~ Psalm 23:5

Psalm 23 and I have been hanging out a lot lately. Between the long acupuncture sessions and the longer scans I get to spend a good deal of time being utterly still and completely alone with my thoughts. Nothing else to occupy me. Zero interactions. No distractions. And this sometimes feels kind of vulnerable. Maybe even a tad dangerous.  Just me, my brain and a solitary, small space.

Early on, I realized I have a choice when I find myself alone in a machine or with my thoughts ---Will I allow it to feel like a prison or a place of peace? I can let the fear and anxiety overwhelm me or I can let the words of Jesus pour over me. I’m not always successful, but I try to go with the latter approach and fix my eyes on Him and His Word. 

And so this week it was me and the 23rd Psalm. You know the one — The Lord is my Shepherd. It’s a Psalm I grew up on. I imagine most of us have some connection to this particular chapter. I remember being forced to memorize it in Sunday school for a gold star and even in elementary school. Probably high school too! It was a requirement. And though, back then, I wasn’t entirely convinced of its power, I’m so glad today to have it inscribed confidently across my brain. I'm so grateful to have it in my repertoire of things committed to memory. I call on it often.

"You prepare a table before me." Psalm 23:5 

Yesterday in the acupuncture chair and today in the MRI machine, it was verse 5 which grabbed hold of my attention.  Possibly due to the fact that this past weekend I spent a good deal of time preparing a couple of tables for guests in my backyard. 

Thursday and Saturday we hosted two events back to back—-a birthday party for friends and a homecoming dinner for our daughter and her friends.  And somewhere along the planning line, I decided to put together an extra large outdoor table for both parties off the side of our basement patio.

It’s that magical time of year here in the south. The weather isn’t too hot or too cool. The leaves beginning to change. The bugs beginning to hibernate.  The days shorter and the night comes sooner. It is just lovely outdoors in Georgia at the end of October. Like I said, magical.

And so al fresco dining seemed to be the way to go for both soirees. Same space. Same table. Different people and parties. Easy peasy.

The woods around our home were the perfect backdrop. Rick and I worked hard to hang extra lighting and set up tables and chairs. It is never as easy as I think it should be. The lights kept falling and our frustration kept mounting. But our resolve was steadfast. We would do this thing. We would make this work. A roll of duct table and 300 zip ties later and we had achieved our desired effect. I say “our.” I mean my.  Rick could care two hoots about an effect, desired or otherwise. But he cares about me and so he persevered. He’s truly the best. 

With those tasks complete, the real fun began. I prepared the table. Because that’s what I love to do. Whether it be with linen and china or paper products and plastic. I love to prepare a table. I love to put it all together. The special touches, the candles, the centerpiece, the color scheme. The aesthetics. The vibe! Especially when nature gets to be the backdrop for my canvas. That is my happiest hostess place ever.

I carefully considered the details. It wasn’t thrown together haphazardly or hurriedly. Not at all. I took delight in each decision. Spent time on each item. I scoured our yard and woods for treasures and cuttings to put into my centerpiece. Leaves, pinecones, a birds nest and fading flowers. If you’re wired a little like this, then you know exactly of what I write. It’s joy.

While folding napkins and arranging placemats, I thought of those who would attend.  I considered the women and then the teens who might sit at this table with the vibrant woods around them and the lights twinkling above them. I thought of their conversations and their connections. The fellowship. Their friendship. It felt beautiful to me. And that’s why I did it. That’s why I do it. 

I love bringing beauty together, but, even more, I love bringing people together. That is the most beautiful. 

And so today thinking about that phrase in Psalm 23, I couldn’t help but resonate with this one line of scripture and its beauty. 

God PREPARES a table before us. 

HE thinks of us. Considers us. Plans for us. He is in the very details and design of what fills our hearts and fits us together. He doesn’t need the magic of a perfect fall evening, He is the Mystery of Perfection. He is the Designer of all seasons and situations. He isn’t limited to the two weeks of the Georgia year when all things beautiful converge. He is the Very Artist of beauty. He is beauty. He, the unchanging, immutable God who choreographs the dramatic color-changing of leaves. He is not just the ethereal light of a fall evening, He is the actual Light of the World. 

And, even in His full glory, like a most diligent and dedicated host, He prepares a table before me. FOR me. For you. He beckons us to come and sit and be full. Full from the bounty of His blessings. Full from the abundant love of His bringing. Full with the joy of fellowship, friendship, kinship and communion. 

The table. A beautiful symbol of what God has for us. A holy place to be filled. A holy filling. A fitting together of His beloved created and beautiful creation. His own Son sitting at His right hand. Perfection embodied. Our Savior. A  Place-Saver for us. A place saved for all who might come. Anyone. Everyone. All welcome.

That second line in vs. 5 tells us that He not only prepares the table, but does so “in the presence of my enemies.” Hmm. My enemies? I always thought that seemed a little odd. Why would the Psalmist, David, include this? “In the presence of my enemies,” is surely a place no one wants to be. It is a place of hard. A place of hatred. A place even perhaps of hostility. And yet God prepares His table there. Even in that unholiest of places.

Could it be a reminder to us that even in the ugly, unwanted areas of our life, He is preparing. He is present. He is planning for a feast for us, His frail and fearful children. He is arranging a banquet of love in the very midst of our battered living. He is not ignoring us in our pain, He is inviting us into His peace.

He loves us that much. To remind us—even in the hardest, darkest dwellings—there is a place at the table for our tired selves to come sit. 

My paltry attempts at creating a perfect fall evening of fun and fellowship pail in comparison.  As beautiful as I tried to make each evening for my guests and my girl, my efforts didn’t hold a candle or a hanging string of cafe lights to what God has already orchestrated on my behalf.

He has prepared a table for me.

He has a place card with my name written.

With your name.

He has a seat saved and a spot secured.

A chair is waiting.

He has received my rsvp and He knows someday I will be coming. And, like the most gracious Host in the whole wide world, He cannot wait for my arrival. 


He has prepared a table before me. 

Praise be to Him from whom all blessings flow.

Mondays + Forevers

As much as I have always loved Karen Carpenter I never really agreed much with her feelings about Monday mornings. Or rainy days, for that matter. For most of my life Monday mornings, for me, have felt like a fresh start. A new beginning. A reset for each new week. 

And, for what it's worth, I actually adore a solid rainy day. 

But the past 6 Mondays have brought with them a trek downtown at rush hour for an acupuncture treatment in hope of combatting the knee pain I have from my other treatments. And, unfortunately, it's not helping much. I have other things on the horizon, but this was our first step to keep me walking. Zero pun intended.

I got in the car this morning and felt the gray cloud climb right in with me. As I drove to the hospital, my frustrations and ugly thoughts swirled unswervingly. Suffocating, actually. My brain bounced from one negative thing to another. 

Where was my Monday morning magic? My reset?  My rest-assured? My new-week renewal?

And so the pity party began. I had an hour drive ahead of me fighting traffic-- Did you know at one point there are 9 lanes of traffic going into the city of Atlanta?  And that's only one way. If we doubled that for traffic moving north bound it would be 18 lanes. If it wasn't insane, it would be almost funny! But funny it is not.—Fighting traffic only to arrive at the hospital and join a line which would feel longer than a popular ride at Disney World. And why? Oh yes, so that I could have someone stick about 20 needles into my body.

The whole time I  kept thinking-- and this is the good stuff! This is part of the healing. Part of the helping. Next week I will start a new series of scans and tests and that's the hard part. The really hard. The really ugly. And in keeping with this particular state of mind, I reminded myself all of this goes on forever. There's no end in sight. No stopping of treatment or scans or celebratory bell ringing with what I've got. It's for always. It’s forever.

So, yeah. That black cloud. It was only growing blacker. Bleaker. Heavy and oppressive. I knew where I was headed and I knew 9 lanes of traffic or not, it was a dead end. This kind of thinking is death. As easy as it is to fall into a pattern of pity party grumbling and complaining, it leads nowhere good. You know that. I know that. But it’s hard to avoid at times.

No amount of talking to myself was getting me off this path. So I knew I needed something. I needed to stop the thoughts in my head and decided to opt for music.  But no way was Karen Carpenter going to cut it. Recently I had copied my sweet DIL's Spotify playlist and so, even with my bad attitude, I decided to start with that. I hit play.  

Kari Jobe’s old song "Forever" was first up. Really? Forever? Wasn't that word just part of my utter agitation? Like the 9 lanes of traffic, almost funny. Definitely not funny. Forever. But it didn't take long because within minutes of her music I could feel the cloud begin to lift. The load to lighten. The grumbling to move aside for gratitude. 

Is it magic? No! It’s the mystery of Jesus. It's His words. His worthiness. His worship. It's him which sets me on the road to renewal and a much needed re-set on this Monday morning and every morning. When I forget that, I end up fighting more than my knee pain or the cancer in my bones. I end up fighting fears and frustrations He never asked me to carry. I end up in a place he never intended me to go. I end up with a weight I have no ability to shoulder.

Have you ever been on this kind of dead-end road? If so, you know it gets you nowhere fast.

The music ended and the car was parked and I walked into the Emory downtown hospital campus. And, yes, the line was as long as I have ever seen it. I am not sure it would be an exaggeration to say it was close to 100 people waiting to check in at registration. A hundred cancer patients should never have to line up and wait like this. It is appalling. It is definitely not Disney World.

But here we all were and I’m pretty sure if I hadn’t had that reset with Kari Jobe’s music in my car a few minutes earlier my head would have spun off it’s axis and I might just have exploded all over this Emory Hospital entryway. Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

I remembered the song lyrics I was just singing in my car. The song, the words, the message, the Man of Jesus. Jesus who understands the long lines and the dead ends and the dark clouds and the dark days and the hard Mondays and the hateful treatments. Jesus the Resurrected King. He is it. He is the only thing keeping me from total despair. As I stood there in the long line and limped forward one step at a time, I was more certain than ever that even if this line and my treatments go on forever He is walking right alongside me. He is right here. I might have some sad Mondays, but He is right here with me every day. Forever. 

FOREVER ~ Kari Jobe.   YouTube link if you'd like to listen: Forever

The moon and stars they wept

The morning sun was dead

The Savior of the world was fallen

His body on the cross

His blood poured out for us

The weight of every curse upon Him

One final breath He gave

As Heaven looked away

The Son of God was laid in darkness

A battle in the grave

The war on death was waged

The power of hell forever broken

The ground began to shake

The stone was rolled away

His perfect love could not be overcome

Now death where is your sting

Our resurrected King

Has rendered you defeated

Forever, He is glorified

Forever, He is lifted high

Forever, He is risen

He is alive

He is alive

The ground began to shake

The stone was rolled away

His perfect love could not be overcome

Now death where is your sting

Our resurrected King

Has rendered you defeated

Forever, He is glorified

Forever, He is lifted high

Forever, He is risen

You have overcome

We sing Hallelujah

The Lamb has overcome.