We all write for different reasons but I’d have to say the main reason is to tell a story. Whether it’s our own or one dear to our hearts, we feel our writing will carry that story past ourselves, to others, keeping it alive.
When we write, we pass on what we know, how we live, what we hold near to our hearts. When we write, we leave our voice, our mark, our small thumbprint on the world.
When we write we leave the written word as our legacy for others to gain insight into our worlds or others’ lives. When we write, it’s like a letter waiting to be opened, for just the right person.
I write for others to know me, when I can’t articulate it all in words. I write so others will know the people I have loved, the places I’ve lived, and the worlds inside of my head. In most arenas, I don’t have a platform. I talk and others don’t listen. I’m spoken over or ignored. It used to be something that hurt. Now it just solidifies the fact that writing gives me the platform I would never otherwise have had to share my words with the world.
I love to look back at old journals. I looked back at an entry this morning that I had written a year ago to the day. It was called reflections 2021. I had focused on the word Jireh which means “God will provide” or “Yahweh”. Looking back at 2021 and into 2022, Jireh was the word God had given me to lean on, to focus on in a transitional period of life.
I had written about how God provided for Abraham in Genesis 22. Got tested Abraham’s faith and obedience. Here are a few things that I learned from that passage:
1. Abraham OBEYED even if God asked him to do something he did not want to do and did not understand. V. 3
2. Abraham DECLARED that God would provide. He had no idea how, he may have had to sacrifice Isaac but he knew God was faithful. V. 8
3. God spoke and Abraham STOPPED and LISTENED. V. 11
4. Abraham obeyed AGAIN and God PROVIDED the ram for the sacrifice. V. 11-13 (Abraham didn’t try to find another way. He didn’t try to be self sufficient here. That’s a tough one.)
5. Abraham REFLECTS on what just happened and named the place in remembrance of God‘s provision. “God Will Provide.” V. 14
So what if God didn’t provide the ram and Abraham had to kill his son? Would God still be good? Would God still be our Jireh, our provider? Yes.
It doesn’t always make sense. I can’t imagine the tears that trickled down Abraham’s face as he walked ahead of Isaac, trying to hide them from his little boy. I can’t imagine how his heart beat that morning as he gathered the supplies for the sacrifice. I can’t imagine the doubts and questions that crossed his mind. I wonder how sick he felt as he realized he would soon sacrifice his own flesh and blood. Yet, Abraham obeyed. He believed in Yahweh’s provision beyond human understanding.
2022 has been a year where I have clung to the provisions of God. Yahweh has provided time and time again. He didn’t ask me to sacrifice my flesh and blood but He has asked me to do things I didn’t want to or fully understand. He has asked me to let go of a lot of things and cling to Him. I have been angry, frustrated, scared, unknowing and even blatantly disobedient, yet He has always provided.
So what do you need? I think the end of every year is a good time reflect. If we don’t make time to reflect, we don’t learn from our past, we don’t gain insight for our future decisions.
So what do you need? Again. Think about that question. As a Christ follower, I know, like Abraham, that God will provide my needs. It may be messy and strange and make no sense but He is always Jireh. No need to help His sufficient, all knowing hand, He’s got you. He knows what you need.
I love getting out ornaments, little figurines that sparkle, stockings that have been tacked over and over above fireplaces, and decorations I’ve inherited over time.
Each piece holds memories. Memories of a small curly headed baby’s first Christmas, of a young couple’s first home near train tracks painted every shade of blue, of a little boy who loves decorating his own little bright blue tree each year.
Some memories fade even further back in time, like an old Polaroid in my hand. I can close my eyes and see the scene of Christmases past, warm homes, filled with family. Food filling tables and cousins running around in Sunday best waiting for presents and guessing what this year might bring.
I can see her stirring food in pots on the stove, in a matching pant and sweater set, nails done in an iridescent pink. I can hear the radio under the kitchen cabinet playing Christmas music from the local radio station. I can hear the back door opening, coats taken and dishes placed on the big dining room table.
I can hear her asking someone to “bless the food” and the prayer said over the table with the anticipation of little eyes looking at the desserts stacked near the end. I can see the women and children lining up first to fill their plates as the men joke about not having any left for them.
I can see the mounds of turkey and ham, side dishes and a small crystal dish of sweet gherkin pickles with a small fork to pick them up. They seemed so dainty next to the olives.
I can smell the cigarette and sweet, vanilla pipe smoke as the grownups settled and talked after dinner. Aunts, uncles and older cousins talking about work and life, catching up on a year of life gone by. I can hear his deep laugh and see her smiling up at him. I can see the piano and my dad playing a quick tune, others waiting in line for their Christmas debut.
I can see the stairs leading up to the two bedrooms that we would play in after dinner. I can see the small closet connecting these two rooms where we would hide. I can see the floral print comforter covering the bed in one room and a small couch and chair in another. This space was our space, our little “house” to play and be together if only once a year.
I can hear the grownups talking each other, “Come see me! Stop by any time.” Making promises to see each other soon. As they made their way outside into the cold winter night, kids in tow, ready for bed because they know Santa is on the way. I can hear them saying goodbye to everyone, waving near the back door as everyone filtered out of their home.
I can see the ceramic Christmas tree on the table as you opened the back door, welcoming you to Christmas at grandma and grandpa’s. It was sparkly and full of colorful lights. It stood on a stand and stood on a stand, plugged up with a small light beneath.
That ceramic tree is now mine. After my grandma had passed away, several small items made their way to me. I unwrap that tree yearly, it no longer has a stand or a light and this year I replaced a few of the colorful, plastic decorations. It is my absolute favorite.
I can transport myself into memories as I unwrap each piece of Christmas. One memory no more sacred than another, just trapped in a different time, a different place ready each year for me to unwrap like a special gift.
Last night, I dreamed. I woke up with the dream fresh. It was a strange dream as most of mine are- a mixed bag of emotion, random happenings and snapshots of the day.
I was gathering food on a plate from a bar or an area that food had been placed. As I gathered, I saw that everyone else had beautiful cuts of meat, and I had a few small leftover pieces, full of that and some not even cooked.
I gathered what I could on my blue Fiesta Ware plate. (I remember that vividly-most likely from emptying the dishwasher last night.)
I took my plate to a seat only to be upset that I didn’t really have one. I wondered aloud about why I had no place to sit, nothing great to eat. I was surrounded with a few friends and family members with no true place.
I woke up knowing I needed to dwell a bit on the stream. I even did the Wordle today and the word was “dream”. Ironic. Maybe.
I’m sure there are a million ways to interpret this dream but I think it’s about the feeling of finding, of looking around my life, seeing the seats and feeling lost, feeling like I haven’t found my place, my seat.
I also think it has something to do with that plate, my Blue Fiesta Ware plate. I was concerned with what others had on their plate, I was focused on their “better food”. I had the choice to put the food on my plate or leave it.
So I choose to remember the truth of God‘s love for me. I don’t have to fight for my place on earth because Someone else fights for me. I have a seat at the table, the one that truly matters in the end.
I will also think about my “plate”, my life. What am I filling it with? I can look to the left or right, compare what others have to what I have. I can choose to fill my plate intentionally, processing and praying. Avoiding the urgency to pile my plate high.
There’s a story in the Bible about a boy name Mephibosheth. I’ve written about him before, about finding a place at the table. His body was literally broken, legs crippled, but the king made a place at his table for Mephibosheth.
I come with flaws and hurts, a past that needs healing. Yet I have a beautiful plate of food and a chair with a place card that has my name inscribed on it, waiting for me, at the table, always.
Food for thought: Where are you sitting and what’s on your plate?
A front porch view 