There have been two different tables in my parents’ dining room over the last 25 years. Both tables a sign of the season.

One big & ready for the ruckus of children & feast.

One that replaced it as they began to embrace being a smaller household with children all grown.

In every season, my mom sat in the same chair.

When she sat…

And the location of this chair is no small intent. Easily escaped to pop back into the kitchen half of the multipurpose dining room. She sat in between us and our needs. The mediator of meals.

Whatever was missing, whatever was still baking, whatever we preferred…she stood in the gap that she may acquire and provide. That she may assist. That she may continue to proctor the meal time, to orchestrate the symphony of feeding her family.

The part that is most remarkable is that she chose that spot.

She chose to be the provision’s ambassador – to be the one who listens to our bellies & hearts & preferences & cares & “oh I forgot’s” & “would you grab’s”. To be the one who has catalogued the inventory behind her & will find the missing piece to that puzzle in us.

She chose & still chooses to advocate for us whenever we sit at her table – as she sits in the chair that stands between us and comfort…us and full tummies…us and assured hearts. Curating fellowship and peace. All by choosing to serve from that chair.

And as they consider bringing the big & ready table back for the season of grandkids filling up their home…she is ready & eager to choose that chair again.

What an example of motherhood.

Who chooses that kind of servitude?

Moreover, for me, who chooses that kind of availability. Who chooses to be that available to people?

That kind of “no, you before me…”

That kind of day in & day out, 3 meals a day, long game love.

A mother…

MY mother.

What a gift. What a leader.