This name came to me eight years ago when several family friends began eating dinner together monthly since none of us had family locally. As I’ve done storywork with the Allender Center these past four years, its meaning has come to represent my calling, both literally and figuratively. A few months back, Jason and I built a 16-foot table in our backyard. I wanted it as long as we could build it to symbolize that there is room for anyone who wants to come. Today, he bought me chairs to go around it for my birthday. It’s ready for guests now.

We all have tables we’ve not been invited to, have been refused a seat at, or been told we aren’t worthy or qualified to join. Places where we feel less-than others who seem to have it all together. Some of the most harmful tables have been in our own families or even the church. At this table, all are welcome—the marginalized and oppressed, the exiled and orphaned, the judged and lonely, the hurting and harmed, the wounded and weary, the deconstructionist or questioner, the faithful and confused, the foreigner and stranger, widows and orphans, kings and queens. This is a safe and storied space where every person’s story counts, is worthy of being heard, honored, and celebrated.

This table is for women and children, for every race, nationality, sexuality, and gender, for sinner and saint, for the whole and the broken, for all the messy, raw, and shameful parts we are taught to keep hidden. This is the Lord’s Table where we are all beggars and betrayers, where we lift shame and draw glory. There is no hierarchy here, and there is always room for one more. Sadly, some may read this far and turn away. That’s okay. We will hold space for their “someday” too. Too often, we can become afraid or envious of one another and “glory steal” instead of daring to name the truth of our desire to be-with and “glory share.” We are better together. There’s a place at this table for everyone.