On Making Room

Carried to the table.

Seated here, with family.

Just moments ago, a stranger.

Broken.  Crippled.  Rejected.

But now sought after.  Chosen.

Not just invited, but compelled.

Because of kindness.  Because of mercy.

Always, he says.  Always you will eat here.

With family.  At the table.


We sit around the table too.

Eating the bread.  Drinking the cup.

Sometimes we see ourselves in his eyes.

Broken.  Crippled.  Rejected.

Carried here.  Welcome here.

But often, too often, we think we’ve gotten it together.

We guard our seat at the table, feeling entitled.

Forgetting the kindness.  Shrugging off the mercy.

We look around and see him in our neighbor’s eyes.

Broken.  Crippled.  Rejected.

Our eyes narrow in judgment.

A stranger, we mutter.  Not family.

Who invited him?

And then our gaze shifts to the head of the table.

Eyes blazing with kindness.  Arms full of mercy.

The King reminds that we were all carried here.

Invited.  Compelled.  Welcome.

Let’s make room.


Read more about the story of Mephibosheth in this guest post by my beautiful sister.

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