Growing up, the dinner table meant “family time.” Our lives were busy and everybody was often headed in various directions, but we always tried to make it home for dinner. Around the table we talked about our day, our plans for the week, grades on a test, news headlines, a sermon at church, something we read, updates on a friend…anything and everything. We laughed, we cried, we spilled milk and we flung mashed potatoes. It was family time; it was the gathering place.Time around the table isn’t special because the food is always amazing (although that never hurts!) but because it’s a chance to sit down and reconnect for a few minutes no matter how busy the day has been. So many of my memories growing up were centered around the kitchen and the dining room table.
I always look forward to sitting down at the table for dinner with my husband at the end of a long day. Sometimes we are so exhausted that there may only be a dozen words passed between us the entire meal, and other times it takes half an hour to eat a bowl of soup because we have so much to talk about. The point is simply to be together. I love knowing we are both home safely under the same roof, and whether there are many words or few, sitting at our little table is a beautiful thing. Nobody said it has to be fancy; there is no gold trim on those kitchen chairs, no satin cushions, or hand carved scrolling. Sometimes it’s covered with stacks of unopened mail, other times it’s spotless with a decorative candle burning cheerily in the center. But regardless of how it looks on any given day, it’s our table, in our little home, where our memories are being made. 
