Family dinners…they’re so important, so foundational, so “spiritual”…

They’re so hard. Everyone talks at once, no one wants to eat the same food, no one wants to wait until others are finished before leaving the table. I can hardly eat a bite in between kids asking me to get them something from the kitchen. And they whine! “I wanted to sit there! I want the yellow plate! Do I have to eat ALL these carrots?”

We do have one fun ritual though – going around the table asking each other, “what was your favorite thing today?” The oldest kid usually has a good answer. The middle one always says “watching tv” and then we have to prompt him for something else. The youngest is not much of a conversationalist yet, but he knows the drill – his standard answer is “going to the playground”, even if it didn’t actually happen that day. We’ve got some work to do, but the point of the game is that no matter how bad your day was, you can find something to rejoice in. It can be as small as you want.

And those are the hardest days, aren’t they? When we’re in pain, whether physical or emotional, our world gets very small. As I write this, I’m lying in bed for the fifth straight day. My lower back seized up, and in a moment all my plans went up in smoke. Preaching at our prison church service? Maybe some other time. Driving the kids to school? Impossible. Meeting with our leadership team to plan the ministry year? Not a chance. It’s just me in bed, hour after hour. I know I’ll get better soon; I know I should try to do some work while I’m here, but I can’t think about anything except the pain and how to distract myself from it. 

Family dinner is the last thing I want right now, but the “favorite thing” game might be what saves me from my destructive self-pity. I did nothing today, I felt awful…but what was my favorite thing? I am forced to look up. Like the psalmist, when I lift up my eyes, I see my help coming from the Lord. I am getting much-needed rest after stressful and demanding few weeks. My friend is helping drive the kids around. A neighbor shared her supper leftovers with me. My ministry team is praying for my recovery. I can stand up a little straighter today than I could yesterday.

Some days the joys are very small in light of the pain, but they are always there if we choose to look up.