You prepare a table before me . .
I perched in a corner of our family room, waiting for my favorite bird. The one I set the table for each spring, hoping he will accept my invitation and come. By Mother’s Day, I’m slicing oranges and scooping grape jelly twice daily setting out my love’s favorite delicacies.
So there I stood. And I stood. Still as I could. Until my back ached and my arms shook from the weight of my camera, zoom lens attached. I prayed.
Just one shot of the most brilliant bird, please? Just one shot of the one with the most orange breast? Just the best male?
I got sparrows. I got females. I got the ones I didn’t want. The marginalized. The overlooked. The less than brilliant. The dull. The ones nobody wants on film because there will be no oooo and ahhhhs.
And then the Lord pulled me up to that table, to that wood rail and fed me some holy fruit.
Was it not for all I came? Do I not think all beautiful, precious, lovely enough to feed? To die for? Do I think one better than another?
Humbled, I asked forgiveness for all the times I’ve marginalized anything or anyone. In God’s eyes, we’re all equally gorgeous, loved, cared for.
Thank you, Jesus, that in your eyes and heart, no one and nothing is marginalized.
I tell you the truth,
whatever you did for one of the least of these . . .
You did for me.