Love- "At the Table". Words by Katie C.

Recently, on a trip out of town, I was working really hard on trying to be "just a guest"- you know being overly polite, unassuming, and happy to receive anything and everything coming my way.  An abrupt comment caught me off guard.  "I love reading your blog."  Crickets from me.  Bashfully I accepted the compliment.  A conversation ensued over great readings- I got nothing but books for my birthday and I loved it, and a love for great stories.  I was humbled and inspired by that comment.  So I reached back out to the lovely lady and asked her to help me.
Her Husband, has been one of the most influential men in my life.  Spiritually I love learning from the guy.  He's a Pastor and a Native.  Josh is a mentor, a tremendous blessing, and an all around interesting guy.  But His wife and family? Katie is a doll, and man can she sing!  Alex, Aiden, and Ella are the coolest kids you could hang out with.  So here to offer an amazing glimpse of family and love: Here's a piece from Kaite.



At the Table by Katie Charette

I remember my dad frying bacon…all the time. I remember sitting at our massive wood table, our cozy double-wide surrounded by tall trees, in Lincoln, MT. I remember hoping that I would have enough bacon to scoop up my cheese eggs so I wouldn’t even have to use my fork. That picture sums up a lot of my childhood for me. Our home was warm, loving, and I was well cared for. My dad was a Principal/Superintendent and we ended up in that tiny, mountainous town for his job. My mom, a dance teacher and shopping phenom, was seriously unsettled at moving to such a tiny dot on the map but managed to start a thriving dance school and haul us all to Helena enough that she still received Thank You cards from the local retailers at Christmas. It was because of her dance classes that we ended up with our humongous table. My mom would trade for classes. She has traded well. My high school vehicle (a dun-c olored Saab that won “Ugliest Car” my senior year) was acquired through trade. Good bread, cleaning, and our table all came our way because my mom brought something fun, creative and beautiful to a small town that needed something to help brighten up winter. I remember arguing with my dad about eating things like stew and dancing around with my brother and sisters while “doing dishes.” I really don’t know if I even liked the table. It was too big, too geometric, too yellow. It was just there; solid and unpretentious. Ready for anything you could throw at it.

When we moved to Laurel (Close to Billings! With a movie theater!) the table wouldn’t fit in the new dining room. I’m not even sure where it went. Garage? My grandparents’ garage? I forgot all about it. I was busy. Falling in love with the man who fought with me on our first date. Following him to Tulsa, Colorado Springs, Cody, St. Louis and eventually back to Billings. Hallelujah! We were home. We now had 3 growing children and eventually purchased a house, rescued a dog for our backyard and started looking for furniture to fill our beloved money pit. My mom called. “Do you want the big table?” What table? “The one sitting out on our patio because no one has room for it?” I don’t know. Doesn’t it have a strange geometric shape? I don’t like those corners. “But you have the perfect dining room for it and you are planting a church! Think of all the people that could fit around it! I have benches and old chairs from the Night Owl.” Well, maybe until I can afford something rectangular. .. My husband was thrilled. You have to unscrew each of the tree trunk legs to move it and it still weighs hundreds of pounds. It was cut from a solid piece of wood that was halved and joined together. It is 8 ft x 4 ft and when we finally got it in our dining room I crawled on top of it to lay down and marvel at the sheer size. Josh was practically hopping around. He kept saying things like “break bread with friends” and “feast together.” He was speaking in some kind of medieval tongue that the table inspired in him. I love our table. Our kids sit at it while I fry them bacon and cheese eggs. They whine about eating deer meat all the time and dance with me in the kitchen on occasion. They try to hide their video games on the bench beside them and pretend they are awake when their dad reads them a Bible story each morning while they pick at their cereal. We play cards, dice and have lots of friends over to break bread and feast together.

At the table, we are building a family, planting a church and, sometimes, it is just me and my love: fighting, talking and praying together.