Years ago, when my husband and I were married for just a few years, my mother-in-law bought us a kitchen table. With our limited income and growing family, all our furniture up to that point was a hand-me-down or yard-sale find, which usually meant rickety and “well-loved.” The one we picked out together was a sturdy oak table with pedestal legs and a strong base. The wood grain had natural lines that were neatly enclosed in triangular sections that pointed to the center. The chairs were similarly solid and would hold our growing children through the years. They were well-built and could endure booster seats and playdoh. We loved that table
Our oldest sitting at the original table in our first house.
And then, we lost that table during the house fire when the fiery roof collapsed on top of it. As with most things during the aftermath and putting our lives back together, we grieved the loss of our belongings along the way. We couldn’t stop everything we were doing to be fully present in our grief. It was too hard to push pause in the chaos around us to address our sorrow. If anything, we paused our emotional healing in order to address the physical needs in front of us; clothing and feeding our children, finding a temporary home to live in, and attempting to uncover hidden pockets of normalcy.
Honestly, I haven’t thought of that table in years. And many years have passed since we received that gift from my mother-in-law who has since passed.
And then we found ourselves in need of a new table for our breakfast nook. It’s a small space in our kitchen that has a large window where the sun first greets us in the morning. I don’t care for the typical Florida glass round tables that adorn many similar spaces. I wanted something solid for when the grand babies come to visit. Something that could endure booster seats and playdoh.
I began my search online to find a gently used table that would work for the space. I couldn’t believe it when I stumbled upon the exact table. This was the same table where we taught our babies to fold their hands and thank God for our food. The same table where my kids drew their first letters and numbers. The same table where we celebrated birthdays and holidays.
I was not looking for redemption. It unexpectedly found me.
I purchased the table and choked back tears as I ran my fingers over the familiar wood grain. I am not nostalgic about most material goods, the fire took that out of me. However, having the table back in my home feels like I have a bit of our family history home again. We have a bit of my mother-in-law with us who became sweeter as she grew older and graced our lives with her joy. In the same way I was looking for pockets of normalcy after the fire, this feels like a hidden pocket of restoration. Of recompense. Of redemption.
A bit of redemption in our cozy kitchen nook.
It’s been 23 years since we brought our first table home. The Lord did not forget the joy we shared around that space, and He did not forget our pain. He has hidden gifts of restoration and redemption just for us. He has pockets of grace after chaos.
You’ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. Isaiah 58:12 (MSG)