Ode to The Table or I Like Tables...

Last week my brother-in-law who is a table-maker offered me a sweet deal.

A pick-up load of wood-pieces (left after tables are cut out) 

 for an I Like Tables Poem for his Staff Christmas Banquet last night...

And since there is no What's for-supper post to share because I was not home last night

I took a few pics of tables around our house

because tables hold a lot more than just supper...

Kitchen Table...

often heaped with projects in progress

Front entrance table holds 'warm welcome' arrangements

Dining Room table hosts hobbies as well as dinners

 End table...

Ode to the Table or I like Tables

I like tables, they make my heart sing

A table can be used for almost anything

So I’d say an ode to The Table is due

A tip o’ the hat to tables, black, brown and blue

White tables, green tables, espresso or pink

Tables are great in any colour, I think

Ebony, ivory, distressed wood or gold

Stable tables brand new, tables wobbly and old

I like tables

End tables, coffee tables, console tables, oh

Accent tables, night tables, table for the patio

Side table, foyer tables, and drum tables are nice

And a good kitchen table, worth every penny of the price

Drink-tables, work-tables, nesting-tables and such

Dining room tables please me ever so much

Conference-card-ping-pong tables all thrill me lots

Office tables, picnic tables, and tables for tots

I like tables

Industrial tables, farmhouse tables, tables shabby-chic

Scandinavian, Mid-century, modern or antique

Wood veneer, laminate, marble, metal, glass

And my personal favourite, solid wood of course

Sofa tables, times tables (oops, wrong category)

I like tables that hold many an olden story

I like small tables, tall tables to set by a door

And tables that always have room for one more

I like tables

Whether they are dressed in fine runners of silk

Or blessed with the mess of cookie crumbs and spilled milk

Whether set neatly; plate, cup, fork, spoon and knife

Or covered with clutter of everyday life

Whether they are smudged by little fingers or nose

Or polished so shiny every speck of dust shows

Whether they are freshly finished or weathered

Tables gather families and friends together

Oh, I like tables

Round tables, square tables, oval, hexagon

Rectangle tables that can stretch on and on

Tables for serious talks or celebration

There is a table for every (kind of) occasion

Tables for simple fare like bread, jam and tea

Or laden with food prepared for company

Tables where doctors say ‘you can hop up here’

Tables to pull closer to one aged and dear

I like table

(if it gets too long this verse is optional)

Tables are a little like (some) people we meet

Some sound and solid, some flimsy and weak

Tables also come in sundry shapes and sizes

They hold the predictable and grand surprises

They hold homework that births both groan and hurrah

And babies that bring out our best ooh and a-ah

They hold many memories of moments so dear

Oh, tables are so much more than they first appear

I like tables

I like tables where chatter and glad laughter bubbles

Where we gather to ponder challenges and troubles

Tables for fellowship, courtship, playing games

Or counsel when someone slips (let’s not mention names)

Tables for banquets, family altars, flower-bouquets

Tables are handy in all manner of ways

A place to pour bushels of freshly-picked beans

A place to share God’s Word, prayer, hopes and dreams

And no matter what makes other furniture ‘staples’

None of them equals the versatility of tables

Therefore, I like tables, they make my heart sing

And make most meals feel like a prize fit for a king

I like tables, oh, yes I do

And I hope, after hearing this poem

You like them too

© Janet Martin

...and the best part of this story...in the morning while splitting wood for kindling
and eyeing a quickly dwindling wood-pile I had prayed
'Oh Lord, help me find a way to get more wood'
and lo, a few hours later this 'bargain'
Thank-you God!
I can breathe easy as I attack the wood-pile!

This Mortality

My, my, but mortal is master of disaster,

when lured by lust of the flesh, lust of the eye and pride of life!

 (For everything in the world--the lust of the flesh, 

the lust of the eyes, 

and the pride of life--

comes not from the Father 

but from the world.)

1 John 2:16 

It heaves upon the crest of earth in birth and death-wrought spree

It laughs and grieves abreast the breadth of immortality

As Time set in four-season spans twirls like a carousel

And man embarks and exits ‘neath the tolling of its bell

Where we prove, as we learn to love, the nature of the beast

Where deathless soul instills the glove upon which moments feast

And none of us can circumvent the Hour that must be

When we are called to shed the tent of This Mortality

It boasts; oh God forgive us when we forget Mercy’s girt

As we dare to puff out our chests and strut our stuff of dirt

As we forget to smote our breasts and cry out, ‘what is man’

As we ignore the Author and Finisher of our ‘can’

As we make wealth an idol rather than worship’s employ

As we take without uttering one phrase of praise or joy

Where grace is always greater than This Mortality’s mess

And God is always faithful to forgive if we confess

Each travels through this world but once toward a binding goal

When This Mortality becomes the chariot of the soul

Where for now we must all partake of trust’s manifold tiers

As waves of hope and heartache surge and merge with days and years

While dreams are dashed and born anew and lashed by winds of change

And all of us are headed to what Last Gasp will estrange

As we enter that which remains life’s Greatest Mystery

When Mortal sheds its rags and puts on Immortality

© Janet Martin

 For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.

For the perishable must be clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. 

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable

 and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come to pass: 

 “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”…

1 Cor.15:52-54

The Perfect Want...

With always lots to tend to in an ever-aging body and mind
 it sometimes leaves this poet’s heart a little frayed with want
for an art that here and there needs more than a haphazard or hurried splash.

I just finished reading the book Becoming Mrs. Lewis.
I love books about people who understand the ‘need’ to write;
how this hunger howls for release and even writing does not always fill it
because so little of what we write seems to come out exactly like we wish!
Still, to everything there is a time and a season
and I want to want to honour the Giver in each season.
 He knows the heart of every single one of us and
He grants grace to proceed and succeed to everyone who asks.

Let our goal then be to seek God first to glorify

for what we seek to please our self will never satisfy 

One of last week's devotions has stayed stuck, hopefully not just in my head...

I never want to live as if I was the first in line

But rather, blend into the place God willed in His design

That always bids us look to interests of fellowman

And love each other humbly, holy ev’ry way we can

I never want to hunger for some self-indulgent Then

But learn to live like Jesus did when He walked among men

The King of kings took on himself the form of servant meek

And taught us with more than mere words to turn the other cheek

I never want to worship ‘the created’ rather than

The One by whom all things were made according to His plan

Thus in this little time I have before death plays its part

Lord, let me want the beauty of a truly tender heart

© Janet Martin

Abiding Anchor

 This song has been going round in my head since last week
when my son played a small bit he recorded
as a man in the next room on a job site sang this hymn as he worked...

Against the tides that surge and crash and moan

Unwavering amidst the foaming crest

Steadfast within the gales that wail and groan

Abides the anchor of God’s promises

Unshakeable while wild life’s mistrals seethe

Until it feels like hell its depth unchains

Still resolute, unmovable beneath

The anchor of God’s promises remains

Unyielding as grief wields a numbing blow

And courage crumples in sorrow’s travail

Firm in the roiling spoil of Eden’s woe

God’s perfect promises will never fail

My love, though earth and heavens pass away

And stars fall like green figs from storm-tossed tress

Rock-solid in the tempest's spewing fray

Abides the anchor of God’s promises

© Janet Martin

Heb.6:18-20

 Thus by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie,
we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be strongly encouraged.
 We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and steadfast. 
It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, 
 where Jesus our forerunner has entered on our behalf.
 He has become a high priest forever in the order of Melchizedek.…

Tick-tock's Undertow

It's quiet save the sound of the clock's tick-tock!

 Sometimes we wish for more 'bloom' as it fades

until we mourn the loss of one who never got the chance to fully fade or even begin to fade!

 Tonight the ache of mourning is raw as we enfold a widow in our congregation

in tears and prayer...

We miss you, Ron

Growing old does not stop

Until God wills it so

The momentum of tick and tock

A profound undertow

Where choice and circumstance

Adeptly intertwines

As we grapple with what God grants

While youth its bloom resigns

To make each moment count

Is more than a cliché

They are the sparkles from a fount

That never hits replay

Therefore we ought to prize

The gift of growing old

And kindly, humbly recognize

Time slipping through our hold

The ache for those we love

Who have gone on before

Keens a scared awareness of

What was and is no more

Where, as the seasons pass

We come to realize

How swift the sand runs through the glass

That drains the fountain dry

Dear Lord, bless those who mourn

For friend or family

Lord, heal the heart broken and torn

By sorrow’s agony

Awake in us hope’s boast

As by your grace we go

And teach us how to make the most

Of tick-tock’s undertow

© Janet Martin

 Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, 

for He who promised is faithful.

Heb.10:23