Dinner time at our house is of the utmost importance, but it is also the most chaotic.

One kid is screaming for water while another one is spilling it. Molly hardly ever sits down to eat until nearly halfway into the meal because, like a busy waiter, she responds to every request for a drink, salt, ketchup, napkins, an extra fork, and any other demand.

There is usually a time when we are all seated at the same time and when we do, that is my favorite. Even if the conversation is light, sporadic, and diverse, I have all the people I love in one ten-foot space at one time. As they all feast on their food I will look around and think to myself, slow down time, I never want this season to end.

Some of the best spiritual conversations, heart-probing statements, and life-challenging questions are at our family table. I try to not miss it more than four to six times a month. I can’t guarantee that every family meal will be meaningful, but I can guarantee that every meal I missed is a forfeited chance for it to be meaningful.

The food doesn’t matter. Meatloaf or mush— I love it all because I get to do it with them. Don’t despise the the days of small things (Zechariah 4:9-10).

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