The Lunch Table

     “O Dear Girl why do you stand there with one shoulder slightly higher than the other- your skin blotchy- your hair a bit too frizzy. Your shoes are scuffed and your dress ill fitting. You “Dear”, are a mess! We were looking for someone more qualified for this job…Ha! Ha! For this lunch table,” said blue eyes and blonde ponytail.

     This simple brown lunch table adjoined with 4 more such tables to make 8 long rows under the fluorescent lights in the clamorous cafeteria.  White knuckling my lunch tray- so neatly organized. The center square for the chocolate milk- never white, yuck! The bigger rectangle for the Spaghetti ball, created by the ice cream scooper the hair netted lunch lady served me. In another square stood the golden dinner roll. Even the green beans seemed laid out neatly next to the milk.

     Those cold blue eyes scoffed at me, and supported by a dozen smug expressions from the row of “Populars” pronounced judgement- “Loser.” Then like now- I fumbled through raw emotion and self- control, as I spotted the misfits two tables over. The snickers were like knives in my back on that long walk of 20 to 30 paces.

     The reception there was better, though reserved. Looking around I peered into average faces-uncomfortable braces, overly permed hair… I wanted to belong over there with the “Populars” who took enough time to scan the most surface level, but so quickly discarded my heart.  

     “Why are you standing there silly?” The fuzzy haired blond with glasses asked, “Sit down.’’

So I did and relief flooded my soul. They were kind to me- their kindness somehow erased the complexion problem and the poor outfit choice. Soon our laughter seemed to ring like happy birds of tree in spring bloom- with new hope.

     So why am I standing here 20 plus years later waiting for the present “Populars” to notice me? To pay homage to a different girl, who grew up to be a woman, but somehow much more like the 13 year old girl who cut through my soul with her gaze. In my white knuckled hands I hold a book of music. The whispers turn to kindish smiles like Berry blast Jello squares- sweet yet still artificial.

     Dianne… You can sit with us if… you sing the songs we want you to sing…and if you sing them to the caliber we determine…or like everyone else is doing- and if…you follow our rules---

     Looking around they all seem so connected- like paper dolls with pretty paper hair- and rosy paper cheeks, and perfectly sculpted paper legs and white paper teeth. Perplexed I stand, fumbling through the white paper sheets of my music book. I see highlighted sections, tear stained spots, hand written notes, and dog eared pages. This one book has cost me so much. Each song represents a struggle, a hope, a prayer. Can it so easily be manipulated? 

     I slammed the book and shoved it under my arm to look for a new table. I can’t fit in to a paper thin club. I already have enough cuts- and though they are small- ouch! How they sting. Somehow the words of my song can’t be found in this book anyway. They were written somewhere else in a time transcendent before my birth. Unseen hands formed me- invisible breath filled my lungs. As the Holy metronome began the tick of my fetal heart, it beat to the rhythm of heaven. The sound of purpose beyond time, space, and lunch table.

     In this present moment, the pounding inside reminds me of the deeper purpose- the melodic tune called “Me” that I am infused with. In the quest to release this celestial song, I have decided I will no longer visit this brown table, under florescent lights, in this clamorous cafeteria! 

     Silence…the song has stopped because my heart is growing cold. The notes only play through a forgiving heart…A stab of pain reminds me that it is sometimes better to cry than to stand bravely with pursed lips and folded arms. Living honestly like the friends from long ago at the misfit table taught me a deeper grace as they invited me to sit, to eat, to belong despite my imperfections- that is how I desire to be with others. So…eyes shut tightly I whisper, “I Forgive Lord ” one tear escapes as I kneel down and lay my  music book on the cold hard floor, this book of chords, lyrics and heart.

     On my knees I can see a new table. It is filled with delectable foods. I cannot see the surface of the table as it is covered with finery and an elegant scarlet cloth. At this table are many place settings, but there is a name tag and an empty chair just for me. As I release this present hurt to You Lord, I draw closer to the table. I pull out the chair made from deep mahogany, taking my seat. The plate before me is fine china with hand painted platinum trim. The water glass is made of pure crystal. Is this a heavenly place? Because as I sit here I feel such peace and joy. “Your banner over me is love” The frustrations fade, melt away, as I take a drink of the living water. So pure- so refreshing. I suddenly hope all those girls both past and present could be seated with me now. In this place of rest. “Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

     Suddenly at the head of the table there is one like the Son of Man. His clothes shine so bright I cannot look upon him.  And his hair is whiter than snow. In His Presence I fall to my knees- leaving my place at the table to bow and cry out- “You alone are holy”

     “Daughter”- the voice spoke like the music of a thousand strings, “You Are Mine.” Tell my people about me. See all the empty places at this table? I have made room for all those girls. Allow me to reach them through you. Don’t give up. The key is surrender. In those hard moments I will renew your strength. Fix your eyes on me. I am the author, I am the Finisher, I am the source of your life. Let my living water purify and strengthen your heart for the purposes I have put within you. Now sit and eat- I have food you know not of.

     So I sat down, There before me, fragrant with flavor, was a delicious meal. But the Lord had left me alone to feast. To reflect. Thank you Lord, I eat this meal in remembrance of you…new perspective, new hope. When I am filled up with good things I can let go of the painful moments that damaged me. I forgive, I release, I can trust again. I can share my hope-beyond the lunch table.