“What is your most treasured memory?”
I sat and thought. I sat and sifted through a short-lived life of moments, all near and dear.
But then my lips began to quiver; a memory began to come and wash over my eyes and stream down my face.
A table. I saw it clear as day. A simple slab of wood, dressed in cloth and surrounded by chairs. The longer I looked, the more the ache began to pulse in my throat.
Then, the table changed. It was lavishly and abundantly displayed with food and drink. The word “feast” seemed an understatement. The longer I stared, the hungrier I felt and a knot formed in my stomach.
I blinked, and then suddenly the table was surrounded. Faces. Dozens of faces. Beautiful faces, sipping from glasses, laughing from their food-filled mouths, and wrinkling the corners of their happy eyes.
Someone sitting at the head of the table was telling a story. All eyes were on Him. The story wasn’t simply amusing — it was delightful in every sense of the word. It was compelling, captivating, and full of unspeakable good.
The story wasn’t exclusive either — everyone around the table had a share in it; they each had a beautiful part to tell. Some wept as they shared their part. A hand reached over to offer comfort, but it wasn’t comfort that they needed, for the tears weren’t grievous tears; they were grateful ones.
The one at the head of the table listened with attentive eyes and a gentle smile. When funny parts were shared and laughter burst out from the table, He belly-laughed until His face colored and His breath gave way. When the sweet and somber parts were shared, His eyes filled with a deep well of emotion that ran down His cheek.
It seemed that this great story — shared by all in parts, around a simple slab of wood, adorned with a feast to feed five-thousand — it seemed that this story wasn’t just a story told by a table of friends, bound together by their humanity — it was something else entirely. It was something that even the tellers couldn’t understand in full, only in part. It was a story that had been told since the beginning of time, and it would be told beyond it — it was the story of the one at the head of the table.
This treasured memory of mine transformed into a vision — a vision of what’s awaiting us in eternity. Seated at the heavenly table, the story we will all tell together will not be our own, but parts of the greatest and most beautiful story ever told: the story of His Death, Resurrection, and our eternal Friendship with Him.
Dedicated to my teammates and dear friends overseas. Our Thanksgiving meal was a glimpse of heaven.