I was making the same terrible choice over and over, breaking my own heart more with each blow. I was tugged in two directions and continuously chose the wrong one. It was my choice. And when it hit me… when I realized how broken I was… I cried in my hands, and cried to a friend, and cried out to Him.
And He told me to return to Him, because there was a place for me at the table.
Come on home, home to me
And I will hold you in my arms,
In joyful glee
There will always, always be
A place for you at my table
Return to me
I listened to His words until I fell asleep. And I woke up, and began the journey of learning to walk in grace. Walking in His kingdom.
I heard them fighting. I read the cutting words, saw the triggering images, felt the pulsing anger. Everyone was different, unique, and came from different places. And I wondered if we would ever be able to become the family I dreamt we could, this family of humanity in union with our Father.
And He told me to love and to hope for peace, because there was a place for every single one of them at His table.
“People will come from east and west, and from north and south, and recline at table in the kingdom of God.” Luke 13:29.
I loved my Father who adopted me, who gave me His heritage, who loves His children this way.
I sobbed in the night, stayed up much too late blowing my nose and begging Him for anything. I had realized during the day that I didn’t feel at home in my favorite place anymore, that my affection was now for the memories and that I couldn’t connect there anymore. I tried, and it just hurt more. My place was no longer there for me. No matter how much anyone wanted me to have a place, how much I wished I could be there. This was two days ago. I want to trust Him; I do trust Him. But I have no direction, in any area of life. I don’t know what to do about any of this. I don’t know what to do, Father. About anything.
“Just be with me. Sit at my table.” He says.
Jesus told a parable about a man who threw a grand banquet and invited guests– guests who had other things to worry about, and chose to focus on those things instead of the feast they had been welcomed into. They didn’t make time to be with him, because everything else was stealing them away. So he invited everyone who was willing to come, from every possible place. Even then, there was room left over. There was no shortage of room at that table. And he would not rest until it was filled.
He welcomes me to His table. His table that is already right here and now.
I timidly approach Him in pieces, and He picks all of me up to carry me to my seat.