These are my offenses.
The table is my heart.
This is where He and I do battle together.
I burst into the room and toss the file in front of Him on the pristinely polished wood.
This file, well, let’s just say it’s overflowing and could use a new manila folder.
I thrust an accusing finger at the deposit and angrily ask, “How am I supposed to deal with this? I am unequipped. I fail you too frequently. I need help. I need instruction. I need guidance.”
The tirade would have continued but for His response.
He glances at the folder briefly before looking back at me.
“Is that really all?” His eyes seem to ask.
Amazing what can be communicated with no words.
I sigh and reluctantly pull out another file concealed in my shirt.
This one is thinner with a different label: MONEY.
The new file looks frail next to its companion that we’ll call RELATIONSHIP.
Again, He glances down with a brief acknowledgment of the new offering and turns back to me.
He’s not angry, just patient.
The heavy silence continues to probe, “Really? That’s all?”
The only sound is my exasperated sigh of response.
Before I know it, the table is littered with files, some of which I am very acquainted with: PRIDE, FEAR, DOUBT, GREED…
These are my offense.
The table is my heart.
This is where He and I do battle together.
Once the desk is filled to overflowing with a pile that threatens to block Him from view, I am left with a hollow sensation.
The emptying is complete.
It’s all on the table.
He grins and says, “Now we are getting somewhere!”
When I walked, or rather barged, into the room for my daily appointment, I hadn’t planned on this.
We normally don’t sit at the table.
I should have known it would be different this time.
He’s been warning me in our sessions together that something new was coming.
We’ve been slowly chipping away at the parts of my being that are false.
We have talked at length about all of these things.
Talking is easy.
But oh, the surrender is so hard.
When I walked in today, it was as if my soul knew what was coming.
I didn’t have the folder in my hand before the door opened.
But from some far off place, my being had a sense of knowing.
Boot camp was over.
It was time for battle.
These are my offenses.
The table is my heart.
This is where He and I do battle together.
How does He know? How does He ALWAYS know?
I can’t help but look into those eyes.
Grudgingly, I mentally acknowledge how warm they are.
Those crinkles are just so inviting.
How could they be rage-inducing?
That’s the beauty of these sessions, I suppose.
He remains unwavering, unchanging, unconcerned.
He just KNOWS what my heart and soul and mind need.
Apparently this is a heart season.
So much has been stuffed into this heart of mine that of course it would need to be released.
Thus, the sagging table of files I so conveniently decided to compartmentalize and catalog as offenses against Him.
The simplicity is disarming, and I feel an ugly wave of hatred rise up as those eyes continue to watch me.
These are my offenses.
The table is my heart.
This is where He and I do battle together.
Battle indeed!
I wouldn’t need to be sitting here if He didn’t continue to put me in situations where I was unequipped.
The injustice threatens to overpower my resolve to remain silent.
But I will not fold.
My cards are on the table.
It is now His turn to answer to the accusations.
After a brief pause, I become dimly aware of the fire cracking merrily in the fireplace in His office.
How did I miss that before?
Amazing what depth of blindness anger can cause.
As if to match my own fuming, the smoke and welcoming smell of burning wood drift over.
The longer we sit in silence the more awareness hits me.
I’m sitting with clenched hands, everything tense.
It’s really quite uncomfortable.
How is it that He hasn’t said more than a sentence this entire time, and I feel my resolve breaking down?
I’ve been avoiding those eyes but feel myself resigned to look up.
He’s still watching me, patiently letting me come to the conclusion that He already knows is there.
Even this makes me angry.
The eyes remain warm, kind, and wait…is that love?
Amazing what feeling loved can do to unhinge a person.
Without warning, the tears come.
My palms unclench, my body sags.
I am wailing, and He continues to sit quietly.
“OK, you can have them. I trust you with everything on that table. In fact, I trust you with the table too.”
He smiles and says five words that are my undoing, “Thank you. I love you.”
As if that weren’t enough, He winks at me, sweeps every folder up in His arms and unceremoniously tosses them into the fire.
I gape at Him in astonishment as He calmly returns to the desk.
This time, however, He pulls up a chair next to me so we are looking at the table together, side-by-side.
Amazing what togetherness can do to solve problems.
He nudges me and says, “My, that table of ours looks quite empty. Are you hungry?”
My entire being answers with an audible gurgle, greater than a stomach rumble and more like a soul cry.
“I can feed you every day with what you actually need. Let me be the one to fill this table and you will never lack again.”
These were my offenses.
The table is still my heart.
This is where He and I eat meals together.
