***I woke up this morning aching for my Grandmother.
Here's just a snippet: Creating thankfulness means that we really see another person, and this is where story comes in, in the listening.So go on over there and read the whole thing, and take a look at her pretty blog, too. It's so easy to get overwhelmed and discouraged by what you feel like you should do, or what Mrs. Crafty Pinterest shows are the ways you can be thankful this season. But like much of life, I'm finding it's the same with gratitude; it's little daily choices that add up that create new habits and new attitudes. I'd love some more ideas! Please join the conversation. What are ways that we can all learn from one another about how to grow thankfulness? What do you do?
The host calls to us to come out from our hiding, where we prefer to blanket ourselves in shame -- because although it's poor covering, it's comfortable and known, while the glory of the table at once beckons but also feels entirely too good to be true, too foreign. But he calls. And his voice is like the otherworldly sounds of stringed instruments that hit our hearts in ways we can't articulate. He retrieves us from the highways and byways, "Come. Come all you who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest. Come to the table of mercy, prepared with wine and the bread. Nothing is required. Just come."-- This month I’m writing on life Around the Table. I hope you’ll join me, cook with me, and invite others in to your real and virtual spaces. Please take time to comment below and share this post if it resonated with you. photo credit: Jeremy Brooks via photopin cc
We do have a social-media equivalent—sharing, liking, knowing that all of your friends have looked at the same cat video on YouTube as you did—but it lacks the synchronicity of shared experience. It’s like a comedy that you watch by yourself: you won’t laugh as loudly or as often, even if you’re fully aware that all your friends think it’s hysterical. We’ve seen the same movie, but we can’t bond over it in the same way. -- Maria Konnikova, "The Limits of Friendship"We walk around our cities phones in hand, isolated to those around us as we scurry past them and yet we feel "connected" to our online "community" because we're scrolling through our high school friend's recent vacation photos (and the internal conversation grows increasingly isolating; case in point: How can she afford such a nice vacation to Tahiti in the middle of winter? How does she still have abs? Shouldn't I still have abs? Why don't I have abs? I should go to the gym. What is wrong with me?). All the while we forego real connection with real people because it's messy and hard and it's just so much easier to keep "liking" things on Facebook. I think we turn to our glossy images of life on social media because it sounds so much more appealing than life around the table. Life around the table feels so ordinary. And we've been groomed to be special and "ordinary" feels a bit like death. But life around the table means you have to show up, even when you're tired or worn out or just blah. And in the best moments, you're there at the table, breaking bread together -- sharing the mundane elements that we all need to survive; not just food, but real, vulnerable community, where your family and friends see you -- really see you. They see you in little moments, when you haven't brushed your teeth and you have those tattered socks on that you love to wear in the mornings. They see you at dinner parties. They see you when it's family movie night or Taco Tuesday. There's something so simple and so glorious about just showing up and sharing life together, slowly, day-by-day, meal-by-meal, year-by-year. Just being there. No matter what. Because life around the table is all of it, and it is all cause for celebration. So, what will "you do with your one wild and precious life"? -- This month I’m writing on life Around the Table. I hope you’ll join me, cook with me, and invite others in to your real and virtual spaces. Please take time to comment below and share this post if it resonated with you.