The Table

     Hello. When it comes to writing I have always been stumped when it came to starting something. I have always felt that introductions should come first not too closely followed by with "it all started on a dark and stormy night". Well, at least that's how I was told to start writing. Never once was I taught how to begin a story about oneself. About walking down a road that was familiar to eventually see things that weren't real, that wasn't familiar, that wasn't on my perfect "this is how my life will look" list. What happened was far more incredible. It's amazing what happens when you follow God in the direction He wants and in the end, the journey all along had been to be exactly where you are and nowhere else. 

     Family dinner has always been important to me, even when I was a small child.  I loved being able to sit around the table with my family and talk about our day. What we liked, what was good, on occasion what was bad. No matter what happened in my family I always knew I had a place at the table. Even now as an adult, with a family of my own, I always have a place at the table. 

     A few years back we transitioned and faithfully followed God toward where He was calling us next. We made new friends, found a new church and life began to flow. We were learning to trust again, to be loved again, to be worthy of love. We did pretty well for a while. All marriages struggle in some form or fashion and we were no exception. We finally got to what appeared to be the end of our road. Everything was crumbling around us and we couldn't stand to be in the same room, let alone the same house. Family dinners were tough.  Eventually, we sought some help from friends and began a 2-year journey back to a relationship I feared was over, but hoped could survive.  We learned to love, to trust, to feel worthy. We learned to not always look for negativity in the other one and to speak only when it was a "safe time" of the month. (Ladies you know what I mean). Do not discuss anything of importance during that 5-7 days each month, trust me this has helped greatly.  As we began to heal and our relationship with each other and God grow stronger and stronger, I had assumed that our next natural step was to take a place at the table. A table where amazing leaders sat and discussed next steps for the whole. Life went on for weeks and months. 

     Eventually, I had to realize that my grand idea of being at the table just wasn't what God had in mind. It wasn't until a few months later as we find ourselves sitting at a table about to embark on the journey to become foster parents.  We learned so much during the 12 weeks of classes. We met new friends, learned about our strengths, our weaknesses, how to earn trust, how to earn love, and how to show worth.  We graduated from classes and are currently waiting for our licensing to come in before we are legally able to be placed with a child(ren). 

    The most remarkable thing that happened over this last 3 years was that the very table which I had my sights on, a table that would make me feel welcomed, a place I thought I belonged to was not just any table. It was the very table in my own kitchen that was calling for me. That was calling for the broken to sit at. A table to find new friends, learn how to love and give love unconditionally. How to teach someone they are indeed very worthy. A table to feel loved and welcomed. A table to belong to.  

     As we patiently await news from the agency, we are busy getting our home ready. Ready for a child who needs a safe place to sleep, food on the table, what it means to be family, who God is and why He's good.  We are creating space for more love to be shared and setting up a new place at the table.