Come and Eat With Me

Nothing was more awkward for my friends in middle school than when the gym teacher had lunch duty. Half of our group had the ultimate schoolgirl crush on him, and the other half couldn’t stand him. Still, Mr. R. did his best to prove how cool and relatable he was. Based on our smattering of forced laughter, though, anyone could tell we just wanted him to walk away from the table and stop trying. On nearly a daily basis, he’d pick up on our discomfort, shrug, and leave.

He was respected, but he wasn’t trusted—no one knew him well enough.

But when the Special Needs aide, Mama Kay walked in? We all clamored to clear space at our table and get her attention. Mama Kay was the mom of one of our special needs peers we had all bonded with over the years. Because of her son’s differences, she’d often sat in on our conversations and activities and, at some point, became a part of our group.

Mama Kay was seen as one of the group. However, when we needed guidance, correction, or accountability, she changed roles in a seemingly-flawless way and poured into us. We couldn’t wait to share time with her at lunch, even if the truth she challenged us with stung sometimes.

Over my lifetime, I’ve noticed there are seasons where I treat Jesus like my friends treated Mr. R. I’ll respect him, but I’m just ready for him to smile, nod, and leave me alone. Relationship with that perspective of Jesus leaves me anxious, lonely, and confused.

Then I allow myself the gift of realizing Jesus is a lot more like Mama Kay. Even when life hurts, I find myself making space for him at the table of my heart because his goodness and love have always been trustworthy. But Jesus’ love goes deeper that Mama Kay’s. There’s always room for me—for you—at His table, and when we sit with him, we experience his goodness.

When was the last time you sat at his table?