Feasting.

I’ve been thinking about that phrase for a long time – weeks, maybe. It entered my soul while listening to a sermon about the Sabbath. One of our professors explained the traditional Hebrew observance of the Sabbath, and how it starts with a family feast.

I’ve latched on to that thought like … like I’m hungry … or something.

And I’ve found myself, while living in dreaming-of-the-future land, imagining Drew and I having long lingering meals around a big dining room table in our home. With others there. With an abundance of food. And an abundance of conversation. And an abundance of time.

I’ve been in homes where this is a reality. We’ve spent long meals with our mentors back home. And spent long meals with seminary mentors here. Their bi-monthly breakfast can last for hours.

It’s one of the greatest experiences.

I’ve found myself having more of a feast-mentality when I sit at the table for dinner. Intentionally slowing the pace of my eating. Having more than one course to go through. And letting myself just “be” there. All in the hopes that we will become a feasting family as well.

And, deep down in the secret places, I hope that when I sit down and open my Bible, my soul will feast on the Richest of Fares.