16. May 2026

The Table That Remembered

A Childhood Reflection on Family, Faith, Food, and Memory 

Introduction 

Some memories are painful. 
Some are joyful. 
And some simply sit quietly in the heart, waiting to be revisited. 

Today, I thought I would bring a childhood memory to the table. 

When I was growing up, I straddled three worlds: Jamaican culture, British life, and the rhythms of church and Christian faith. Somehow, over time, they merged into one tapestry. 

Until the age of five, I lived in my Caribbean home, surrounded by “outside” — neighbours passing through, family nearby, laughter travelling through open spaces, and food always at the centre of gathering. Family mattered deeply. 

Later, church became much more when my father gave his life to Jesus Christ. Faith shaped the atmosphere of our home, not through perfection, but through trust in Someone greater than ourselves. 

Looking back, I admire my parents for the safety they created, the hospitality they showed, and the way they welcomed others in when it was wise to do so. 

And today, the Nelsons’ old dining table remembers one such visit. 

Sit back and enjoy.

The Table That Remembered 

There was an extra-large dining table in the basement. 
It could have told a story or two. 

Children draped it with sheets, using chairs to extend it, creating a tent, a ship, or whatever story the day required. 

The table had six huge legs that helped it stand strong for years at Norcott Road. 

The things it had seen: babies growing into toddlers, adolescents, and fully fledged young adults. The parties. The dominoes. The card playing. The music. 

The table loved hearing the Mother Nelsons nattering away in the kitchens, for there were two. 

They spoke of children, husbands, work, church — the list was endless. 

The table liked the dinners too, everyone gathered around it: big, medium, little legs. It made the table feel needed, part of the family. 

One Sunday, Miss from school was invited for dinner. She accompanied the Nelsons to church and returned with them afterwards. 

Miss was having a real cultural experience in Stoke Newington land. 

The table could still recall the rich array of dishes set before them: rice and peas, chicken, salad, carrot juice and later, fruit cocktail, jelly, and Mother’s cake they liked to call the “rub up.” 

The ingredients were manually rubbed together, often quickly, as the children grew impatient to eat it. 

The table’s mouth would have watered at the memory, if it had one. 

Miss enjoyed the food, the visit, and Daddy’s tall tales. He had great conversational skills. 

The table often smiled to itself remembering Miss’ surprise that the carrot juice was sweet and tasty. 

What Miss didn’t know was that the Mother Nelsons began by grating the carrots, soaking them in milk and water, then squeezing until every last drop of juice was gathered. 

Other ingredients were added too; the kind that made it moreish. 

The table stood proudly, full of nostalgia. 

The things it remembered. 

Perhaps it should write a book.

Reflection

What stories come to mind when you remember the past? 

Some memories are joyful. 
Some are painful. 
Most carry traces of both. 

Sometimes the balance leans heavily to one side or the other. 

Perhaps there are moments you would rather forget, yet somehow they still travel with you; tucked quietly into the corners of your heart and mind. 

And perhaps, over time, those painful memories have grown so loud that they have overshadowed the good. 

The laughter. 
The safety. 
The meals around the table. 
The ordinary moments that once felt small, but now shine brightly in hindsight. 

Sometimes the beautiful memories are not gone; merely buried beneath disappointment, grief, hardship, or time itself. 

Yet every now and then, something simple awakens them again: a scent, 
a song, 
a recipe, 
a street name, 
an old photograph, 
or even a table that once held a family together. 

Memory is a curious gift. 

It reminds us not only of what we have lost, but also of what we were given. 

And perhaps today is a gentle invitation to remember both with honesty, grace, and gratitude.

Scripture

One generation will commend Your works to another, and will declare Your mighty acts.

Psalm 145:4

Selah: Pause and Consider 

What memories rise to the surface when you think of childhood? 

Are there joyful moments that still warm your heart? 

Or perhaps painful ones that still linger quietly beneath the surface? 

Sometimes healing begins not by pretending certain memories never existed, but by allowing God to help us hold them truthfully and gently. 

If you would like to privately share for prayer, 
The Dove Collection is able to bring your request before trusted intercessors. 

Or perhaps you carry a joyful childhood memory — one that still makes you smile when it returns to mind. 

We are all ears. 🤎 

Looking Forward 

Next week, our focus will be Pentecost. 

We will reflect on the power, presence, and person of the Holy Spirit — the Breath of God who still comforts, convicts, strengthens, teaches, and sets hearts ablaze today. 

And if today’s reflection blessed or stirred a memory within you, please consider sharing our weekly blogs with others. 

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