“Don’t just invite them to the table, invite them to Jesus.” I don’t know the amount of meals eaten at this table or how many stories and laughs have been shared across it. I don’t know how many recipes it has seen or how many hands have folded to say grace a top it. I know that it belonged to my grandmother, though, and I know what kind of heart she had. In its last years with her, this table served as a laundry station, housing all of her detergents and things and allowing her some extra space to fold. I like to imagine that it once displayed some of her traditional Filipino food and stood as a place for the hospitality she was known for. My dad has always described her as the biggest little woman you’d ever know, and it’s so true in many, many ways. This table came to me after her passing, and, with my mother’s help, I scrubbed and sanded years of stains and wear down to what it is now. We allowed it’s hairpin legs to shine again and provided the support it needed to sit level once more. Now, I know for sure that it is treasured as a connection to the past, and particularly a tie to such a dear loved one, and it will continue to be as long as I live. It will serve as a space for sun kissed breakfasts and weekend lunches and family dinners, and it will be the place we thank the Lord for our daily bread. Looking at it, sitting beneath the window, catching the little bit of sunshine we’ve gotten all day long, I can’t help but think of her and take delight in knowing how happy she would be to hear about my life now. Sharing a marriage with a man as good as mine. Making a house into a home. Seeking the Lord in the midst of a new adventure. She would be so proud, and that alone makes my heart sing today. Happy Sunday, friends!