Finding Joy Around the Table

My tired body seemed to lift itself onto the table. I placed my head on the pillow, sank into the cushions, and released a long-needed sigh. As an act of self-care, I’d found myself in the studio of an esthetician, preparing to be pampered. As I drew a deep, slow breath, my mind wandered to the many tables I’d lain on since being diagnosed with breast cancer a few months before.

At the end of 2019, my cancer had just been detected and surgery was scheduled. My treatment lasted through 2020 with some checkups peppered throughout the year. From the mammogram machine to the mastectomy, there were plenty of diagnostic tables in between. Each one with different technicians, nurses, and doctors, all concentrating on one small area of my body that would have an effect on everything else. Everyone around those tables belonged there. Their presence was to work toward one goal: rid my body of cancer before it got too far.

Something occurred to me as I made my way through each appointment. Everyone I spoke to dealt with hurting people all day long. In many instances, all their patients were fighting cancer at one stage or another.  I’m sure the stages and types of disease they were up against ran the spectrum. Regardless, I knew this was my platform for “such a time as this.”

My affinity for tables can be traced back to my childhood. We ate dinner around the kitchen table each night. On holidays, we moved it to the family room. There were seven of us passing dishes to the right until they came all the way around to where they started. With bellies full and lively conversation, we connected with each other at the table. As I grew older, my home was built with counter-style seating for quick meals. Still, we always had a large dining table. For outdoor hospitality, we kept a rather large picnic table on the patio.

A few years ago, I met up with a group of friends in Canada for a weekend getaway. During one of our lively conversations, my friend, Jada, shared that her most powerful ministry tool was the large table in the middle of her front room. As you enter her home, it’s the first piece of furniture you see. Part of our group had gathered around that table at an earlier meetup filled with laughter, good food, and tender stories. For some reason, the mention of the table as such an important tool to minister to others resonated with me, driving me to the point of tears. They were good tears, but my emotions caught me off-guard.

For years, I’d wondered if a platform or a pulpit would be my place of ministry. Telling the stories and truths of my faith and the beauty of God in my life is how I had pictured my ministry. Although I have stepped up to speak a time or two, it isn’t the regular occurrence I once envisioned. What I realized as a result of my friend’s assertion is that you don’t have to have one script or one lane to be able to minister to others.

My “pulpit” became a variety of tables where my words and kindness could preach the love of my Savior. My faith could shine through my attitude and, at times, jokes that eased the mood in the room. It wasn’t only about having a positive mindset, although Scripture tells us to guard our minds. Making sure my soul was cared for became a top priority right along with physical rest. It’s true that when your heart and mind are able to rest, your body is more able to find comfort as well. Laughter and resilience were my two of my top mechanisms for letting joy flow to those I encountered.

The hardest test wasn’t when I had to lie with my sternum on a metal bar and remain completely still. It was being taken to a glass room and forgotten. As I sat in a hospital gown, watching other patients come in and out, I tried to wave to passing staff. No one saw me. I even stuck my head out and was told that they knew I was there, but it wasn’t true. I waited for over an hour  for a test that was supposed to be difficult, and I was forgotten. It was during those moments that the lessons of Scripture allowed me to respond with grace.

Feeling overlooked is disheartening. In the middle of a health battle where there are more questions than answers, it can even feel devastating. It would have been so easy to rely on my emotions. The tech later told me she was surprised I didn’t take it out on anyone. At that moment, I realized that the strength to hold my perturbation in check would also enable me to battle the tumor that threatened my health.

As the esthetician began my facial, my mind drifted off to imagine better times ahead. Moving forward, I will gather around better tables to tell stories and hear the laughter of those whose joy has been pushed beneath the surface. We’ll share food and be together, because life isn’t meant to be lived alone. The call to lift spirits isn’t limited to the pews in a church. When we gather with those we love around the table, face-to-face, it tends to be nourishing to both body and soul. Together, at the table, we can work through the hard things that make joy difficult to attain.

Jemelene Wilson writes about what it means to live gently and love passionately. She is deliriously in love with her husband, whom she’s known for over half of her life. Officially the mother of three, Mama Jem has also been known to mother those who just need some old-fashioned love. Building an environment of grace is the foundation of her ministry as a pastor and mentor. Someday she may choose to act her age, but don’t count on it. You can find more of her words at jemelene.com.

Photograph © Nadia Valko, used with permission