Shannon S. McKee

musings and moments

When Quarantine Brings You Back to Table Life

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One of the things that has given me pause for thanksgiving during this season of the COVID-19 quarantine is a return to family meals.

We used to observe regular family meals here in the McKee household. For most of the elementary years, it was an assumed staple of our homelife. I cooked homemade meals most nights. On the nights that didn’t happen, we had leftovers. Occasionally we ate out or ordered pizza. At some point in there, Rick instituted a weekly ritual called Chef Rick Night. At first it was Mac N Cheese but eventually he started trying his hand at new, made-from-scratch recipes and now he has a rotation that the kids love. But, the main point is that in all of these scenarios, we sat down to eat. Together. Most nights of the week.

I grew up with a strong table life and my mom was quite confident in the kitchen. She passed that value (and its accompanying skills) on to me and it’s just something that has always been part of my homemaking. I really like to create an experience of joy and warmth at the table, often adding extra touches or lighting a candle or playing soft music in the background. This was our norm for a lot of years. (Please don’t let that put you under the pile if that’s NOT your thing. That’s not what this about. You probably have another thing that you do well that I don’t. It’s just that this is my thing.)

It was like that in our home for a lot of years. UNTIL… the kids hit the tween and teen years. Their evenings started to fill up with activity. Which coincided with a period of time in my own heart and life that was not a time of thriving. (I’ll just leave that there.) Needless to say, I stopped really fighting for table life and family meals. I didn’t invite people over as much and I wasn’t being very intentional to bring the McKee Four to the table at the same time. Family meals were happening once or twice a week a week. Maybe?

I could blame that on their schedules. Or our schedules. I could blame it on the drain of the teenage years and the accompanying tension that was sometimes at our table. I could blame it on the demands of launching a new, rapidly growing church. I could blame it on the changes to my home-work balance and schedule. I could blame it on just being sort of bored with the daily grind of cooking.

All of those are legit realities. It was really a mix of all of them. But, the bottom line is that I stopped fighting for that time. I stopped making it a priority and pushing us toward it. Both inwardly as a family and outwardly by inviting others to come into that space with us. It just sort of fell by the wayside, part of the carnage of our modern, busy lifestyle.

In recent months, some of that desire has been rekindled. We’ve been having people over for soup and bread on Sunday nights. I have been returning to planning and creating in the kitchen. I’ve been more motivated to care for my little family in that way. Most importantly, I’ve been reminded that it’s good – not just for our bodies but for our souls as well.

But even with my rekindled desire, there was still the pesky issue of our schedules. How do you stop that train once it is barreling down the tracks? Answer: a pandemic.

Hopefully that’s not what it will always take to get things turned around!! But, sometimes we need a do-over and it takes something big to get us there. I have to admit that we’ve been at the table together a lot more during this difficult season. And for that, I’m thankful.

Joanne Thompson’s book, Table Life, speaks much of what is in my heart regarding this return to the table. Things I have long held to be true. Sadly, I just haven’t practiced them as much in recent years. This season has reminded how much I do really love the Table Life aspect of community and nourishment.

In her chapter, Called to Table Life, Joanne says it this way:

Once upon many meals, Jesus – the strong man on a mission to redeem the world – took time to eat dinner. Imagine the satisfied grin on his suntanned face as he ate crispy fried fish and plump pomegranate seeds. Christ lived table life not on a television stage, but in Judean homes. Jesus needed  food, but his lifestyle also demonstrated a passionate preference for the table as an expression of the kingdom. His practice of eating meals with others in their homes was an answer to the prayer he taught his disciples, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Over meals, he connected with family, strangers, skeptics, and friends. Across the table, hearts made for relationship came alive.

My heart leaps at that line: across the table, hearts made for relationship came alive! We’ve been experiencing a bit of that in this crazy first half of 2020. And as I look to count gratitude in the midst of this challenging “Shelter In Place” season, that is one of things I’ve added to my list.

What about you? How has God used this time to rekindle one of your passions or personal disciplines?

Amalya: Portrait of an Inspiring Woman

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Today is International Women’s Day. I’m going to celebrate by reflecting on the women who have impacted me. Maybe I’ll even share portraits of some of them here in the coming weeks.

In that spirit, meet Amalya. I only spent a week with her but she left a huge imprint on my life. Her example is especially meaningful to me because of some of the things I’m processing in my own life right now about my vision and calling. I think you’ll see why in a moment…

Her sweet mountain home was small by most standards – especially for a family of six. Chickens pecked around her front yard as she washed the morning’s dishes in the tub outside. The hose stretched just far enough to get the job done. She’d already been up for hours. Afterall, someone needed to begin preparations for the day and start the fire that would warm the tub of water for our “showers.” Her shawl stretched around her shoulders, chasing away the morning chill as she moved from task to task, always a contented look on her face. I watched as she smiled and gave a handful of coins to the older neighbor lady on the road who was bringing her more fresh, corn tortillas. There in the early morning light, I watched and the thought occurred to me that Amalya was probably one of the most beautiful souls I had ever met.

She’s also the primary living example who has convinced me that hospitality is not really about stuff. Amalya and Lencho didn’t have tons of stuff. They lived simply, hanging clothes on the line to dry and working their small plot of land to provide for their basic food needs. Running water was sparse. Hot water, non-existent… unless you boiled it on the fire in the small shower shed which was next to the outhouse. I know they had furniture but I don’t really remember it. I do remember sitting around the kitchen table, talking, laughing, and praying with dear friends. I remember standing in her kitchen when she treated us to Horchata de Arroz on our first night there. I even remember eating fresh mango and squeezing lime on everything as I feasted in her kitchen. But I honestly have absolutely no recollection of what the table itself looked like. And, I’m pretty sure that no one dish matched another dish.

You see, Amalya and Lencho knew something that we have forgotten. They kept it simple, making their lives about loving God and seeking to love people the way He does.

I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced hospitality quite like I did that week in the mountains of Mexico. I don’t speak much Spanish and Amalya speaks even less English; but I felt like my heart was knit with hers by the week’s end. Why? Because Amalya opened her life to us – she invited us in. Not just into her home but into her life. And as she did so, she offered us kindness, encouragement, and warmth.

She invited us into her village and let us glimpse her heart – her love for her people, her brokenness over loved ones who keep God at arm’s length, her tenderness toward her family, her passion for translating the Bible into the spoken dialect of the people – many of whom do not know Spanish.

What’s more, her invitation came at a cost. As the week wore on, we discovered all the accommodations she had made to make room for us – like cramming her family of six into two beds in one tiny room (storage area) so that we would have places to sleep. We disrupted her life in every way. And yet, she invited us in.

Amalya’s quiet, faithful example taught me much that week. She taught me about simplicity and having a servant’s heart. She taught me what hospitality is really all about – an invitation. She taught me about creating the time and the space to say “come on in and commune with us. Just as you are. We want you here. Even if it costs me something. Mostly, because you matter to God; but I want you to matter to me, too. Because you have a story and I want you to share it with me. Come on in out of the storm, hang up your travel-worn cloak, and just rest for a sec… while I get you a cup of tea and a cozy blanket.”

As I think about all the women over the years, like Amalya, who have invited me in – to their homes and their lives – I am grateful. I know am richer for their beautiful offerings.