It was morning,
though the night still hung heavy;
the clouds hovered,
the sun unable to rise.
The children gathered for breakfast;
morose and angry,
heavy still with sleep.
Mother looked with unhappy eyes
and father, already delayed
flew out the door.
What could she plan
for this crew this night, she wondered,
as she scrutinized each face
when they exited.
That night the same faces
appeared to sup together;
hostile, unable to summon
the good things of the day.
Seated, they glowered
and the mother, with hope
passed the platter.
Have some love, she murmured
as she handed the plate to the eldest.
Puzzled, he helped himself
and in unbelief said to his sibling,
have some love.
And around the table the faces changed
as the platter of love was passed and
with a whisper bestowed its blessing
by each and every one.
The father then picked up a plate to share
and to his surprise murmured, I pass peace.
And around the table peace was passed
to accompany the main course of love
and talks resumed and the world
was given another chance.
On a level we cannot enter,
we cannot know how much of a difference
it takes to make a difference.
Or how little.
6 responses to “How Much Of A Difference”
Oh I want to eat at your table Veronica.
Maria, I think we eat at the same table. But at mine, you would be an honored guest.
I too want to come to your table. Your offerings give sustenance.
This is great and just a wonderful idea for Thanksgiving 🙂
Terri, often what is shared at the table is more than just the food. I would wish that hope fills the emptiness.
Jessie, Thanksgiving is a sacred day and should be filled with gratitude. Let us make it so.