Recently I had the honor of speaking at a Women’s Tea held at a church not far from where I live. The theme was “Coming to the Table” based on the book of Acts from the bible. Immediately the theme made me think of ladies adorned in pretty hats and tables decked out with lavish linens and china. Visions of cucumber sandwiches and dainty cakes also danced in my head. I was not disappointed. Each table was decorated so beautifully it made it tough to judge which one was the prettiest which I was also tasked.

Growing up, the table was an important item in our home. While both of my parents worked, eating together at the table as a family was a regular routine in our house. There, we enjoyed good food, talked about school and caught up with whatever was going on in our family members’ lives.

It was also at the table that my sister and I learned proper table manners. Daily we were reminded to take our elbows off the table or chew our food instead of gulping it down and other lessons. My sister was admonished to stop playing with her food, as for some reason she relished mixing together items that she didn’t like. Failure to stop meant being banished from the table. This didn’t happen often for she, like me, still has a serious sweet tooth and didn’t want to miss dessert, something we enjoyed with every meal.

Sitting around the table mother told us that there were little children starving in Biafra who would have loved to have gotten those foods we didn’t like. To this day I’m still not convinced that even those kids would have liked buttermilk, liver; eggplant or any of the other items we thought were disgusting back then.

The twenty years that my husband and I served in the Air Force found us dining at many tables around the world. In Idaho, we learned that pumpkin pie, not sweet potato was the dessert du jour.  I also recall the tumbleweeds in Idaho (vines and branches) fueled by strong winds tumbling over and over, catching everything in their path until they resembled some furry creature. At any moment I expected to hear John Wayne, saying don’t be afraid, those tumbleweeds won’t hurt you, Pilgrim.” 

Seated side by side at long hibachi tables in Japan we enjoyed Mongolian Barbecue and Kobe Steak, accompanied by colorful knife-throwing theatrics. Often seated with strangers, nevertheless, we also shared something familiar: good food and fellowship. In Korea, I discovered that unlike Bogoki a delicious Korean beef, Kimshee, a fermented cabbage that’s often buried under ground for some time was an acquired taste.  

Today, whether I sit down at the table with only my husband or with friends and family, I am reminded of a verse from Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I -- I took the one less traveled by.” However, wherever I sat at a table surrounded by food and my fellow man, I am home.