Post by elizabeth on Feb 16, 2014 20:34:34 GMT
A Father’s Table
The dinner table is a holy space—one filled with food for body and soul.
by Tony Woodlief
I don’t have many childhood memories of my family gathering at the dinner table. My father was gone before my memories began, and the stepfather who followed was frequently absent, either working in a different state or watching television in a different room. Maybe this is why my own children have a father who insists that we eat together whenever possible.
I expect each of them to stay at the table until our food and conversation are finished. Sometimes, especially when activities and distractions have been pulling extra hard on us, they groan at my rule. But it’s the times when we’re yanked in separate directions that I’m most insistent. The world is always threatening to pull our families apart, and all too often, we collude with it.
Maybe I saw too many episodes of Little House on the Prairie. I would watch with longing, wishing I could sit at the dinner table in the little cabin between Mary and Laura, wishing Pa was my Pa. Or maybe something God-breathed within draws us to a table in fellowship.
Continue reading here
The dinner table is a holy space—one filled with food for body and soul.
by Tony Woodlief
I don’t have many childhood memories of my family gathering at the dinner table. My father was gone before my memories began, and the stepfather who followed was frequently absent, either working in a different state or watching television in a different room. Maybe this is why my own children have a father who insists that we eat together whenever possible.
I expect each of them to stay at the table until our food and conversation are finished. Sometimes, especially when activities and distractions have been pulling extra hard on us, they groan at my rule. But it’s the times when we’re yanked in separate directions that I’m most insistent. The world is always threatening to pull our families apart, and all too often, we collude with it.
Maybe I saw too many episodes of Little House on the Prairie. I would watch with longing, wishing I could sit at the dinner table in the little cabin between Mary and Laura, wishing Pa was my Pa. Or maybe something God-breathed within draws us to a table in fellowship.
Continue reading here
