I recently wrote a blog about a piece of furniture that holds great meaning. I don’t own the piece. I never have. My father has a furniture store in Ohio. So, there have been many pieces that have come and gone from our homes and from our family store. But there is one piece, a piece I will never posses that drew me to a place of life change. I wrote about it for a camp blog that our youth group adores.
I wonder where you experienced love so deep? Where is your spiritual real estate?
Mine is found in some rotten wood that likely still sits in the middle of Missouri.
I wonder how many years the table sat there waiting for us. How many inches of snow piled up on those benches. Year after year, through winter and warmth, she waited. I wonder if the hands who constructed her knew how far the grains of wood could reach into the future? I wonder if she knew, even though she was plain and unassuming, that her value could be found in the way she would connect people, bonding them over time. I wonder how many walk past her and miss it–the strength of her magnetism–positioned perfectly in the shade of a tree.