By Stephanie Tracey

The dining room.  Many homes have one, but it is not often used for dining.  Usually it ends up as place to drop things to temporarily get them out of the way …  backpacks, magazines, school papers, the coat that I’ll need quickly because “I’m going out again in an hour, and why hang it up in the closet for an hour?”

Forty years ago, as a young wife and mother in a rented apartment, I used to dream of having a big two-story house with a wrap-around porch, and a library, and a guest cottage … and a dining room!  I wanted our house to be the house where everyone came for holidays.  I wanted it to be a “home away from home” to many.

I grew up in a very modest older home, but it was an elegant home.  We had a front porch.  It was small and it didn’t wrap around, but we loved it and my dad would sit and read the newspaper while I played with my kitten and my little brother rode his pedal truck in the yard.

And we had a dining room!  It was a big dining room in a small house.  Our dining room was the hub of our home!  My mother loved to entertain, but it wasn’t an everyday “drop-by-anytime” kind of entertaining.  It was the “planned-in-advance-come-Friday-the-fifteenth-at-5pm-for-dinner” kind of entertaining.

My mother didn’t spend money on the usual kinds of things for herself.  She didn’t bowl, or golf, or get her hair done.  She didn’t go out to restaurants with friends or plan vacations with my dad.  What she desired was to have a beautiful dining room with lovely table settings because she had a heart to host and serve her family and friends.  So several times a month, she would buy what she could afford … one silver fork, one china plate, or one crystal goblet.  Our table sat twelve, and eventually her place settings were complete.  My mom insisted that we place our linen napkin on our lap, use the correct fork for each course, and eat slowly!  The bowls filled with mashed potatoes and succotash, and the platters with carved meat were all passed in the same direction from person to person.  My mom’s dining room became a place known and admired by all in our community.  My dad was a great story teller, and the unforgettable dinners in our home were long, luxurious, and filled with laughter.

It wasn’t a conscious wish that I wanted to have a dining room like that.  In fact, it wasn’t till years later that I realized that what I wanted in my own home was exactly what I had in my childhood home.  I eventually got my home with the wrap-around porch, a small office/library, a little guest cottage, and the dining room!  It was certainly no mansion, but it was our dream home.  I looked forward to lots of formal dining room dinner parties.

But life got busy.  It was a different time and a different generation.  Soon we were part of the “eat on the run” culture.  Eventually, our dining room was used only on Thanksgiving.  But it wasn’t the same.  My dear dad, the great story teller, was now in heaven.  Alzheimer’s disease robbed my mom of her social graces.  We had five grandchildren in three years.  They were precious children and we felt so blessed, but dining room skills were not their strong suit.  No one wanted to place their napkin on their lap.  Everyone had a bathroom emergency at some point during the meal.  They wanted chicken nuggets and french fries instead of turkey and gravy.  One wanted to dominate the conversation, one was too shy to join in the conversation, one could not sit still for more than 45 seconds, one had autism and didn’t enjoy the “togetherness,” one didn’t like his seat placement or the menu. Without our storyteller to entertain us all, and with five active children, their frustrated parents, and the challenges of my mom’s illness, everyone just wanted to eat on paper plates in front of the TV watching football instead of having a long, leisurely dinner in the dining room discussing what we were thankful for.

But still I insisted.  Just once a year, on Thanksgiving, we would sit in the dining room as a family and have a formal dinner and share how the Lord had blessed us.  My son and daughter would say, “Mom, they’re children … they can’t sit like little soldiers and pass the peas and praise the Lord!”  Did that make me question my level of expectation?  Did it make me want to give up and give in and join them in front of the TV?  Definitely.  Definitely.  Definitely.  And many years, I did.  But for some reason, I didn’t give up on my goal.  Eventually, just one day a year, I wanted my grandchildren to experience the blessing of the “culture” I grew up in … special fun-filled dinners at a beautifully set dining room table, alive with love, laughter, conversation, and grateful hearts.  I wanted to serve them as my mom had served us.

Every year I prayed.  And every year, we managed to spend at least some time eating in the dining room as a family.  Some years were better than others.  Some years, after everyone went home, I prayed, “Lord, I think I better start praying today for next year!”  But every year, even if things did not go well, I was so grateful to God for the family He had given me … my husband, my wonderful parents, my only son and my only daughter and their precious, precious families.

As the years went by, we all grew up a little bit.  Our grandchildren are heading into their teens now, and this year, we reached my goal.  I can’t remember a Thanksgiving when I was more thrilled or more grateful to the Lord.  We watched the big game on TV, and then the kids all played football outside while I put the finishing touches on dinner.  When I called everyone in, they were hungry and worn out and ready for some “sit down” time.  Everybody used the bathroom before coming to the table.  Everyone put their napkin on their lap.  Everyone politely passed the dishes in the correct direction.  Everyone thought the table setting was lovely. Everyone was thankful to the Lord for our delicious food … and for their family.  No one got up.  No one cried.  No one spilled anything.  Everyone had seconds and thirds.  Everyone lingered at the table for an hour and a half.  Our grandchildren were now the storytellers at our Thanksgiving table, and riveting stories they did tell!  Eventually, everyone asked to be excused and carried their dishes into the kitchen.

I don’t know when it happened, but somehow, over the years, even without my parents, we had all learned how to sit down and talk and laugh with one another at a formal dining room table, knowing that we are a family blessed by God.   My prayers are answered.  I don’t know what next year will be like.  Perhaps it won’t be as perfect as this year.  Perhaps better, but I am so grateful that my grandchildren have experienced and will remember the blessings of family dinners in the dining room.

Successful family dinners may not be among life’s most pressing needs, but there’s a lot to be learned from our story.  The Lord doesn’t always answer our prayers by 3 o’clock this afternoon.  Sometimes it takes days or months or years to see His answer.  Sometimes we don’t even notice as He is, little by little, answering.  Are you tempted to give up on that prayer you have prayed for years?   Have you opened your eyes and looked around for hidden progress in that area?  Have you thanked Him for the baby steps?

When they were young, it was our children’s chore to pull the weeds from a brick sidewalk leading up to our home.  When they became tired and discouraged, my husband would encourage them to look back at the weeds they had already pulled rather than looking forward to what still needed to be done.  Look back at what the Lord has already done for you.  Don’t be discouraged by what still needs to be done.  Your sidewalk, your family dinner in the dining room, your particular need may be a work in progress.  Our God is faithful.

© Stephanie Tracey 2012

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