Tuesday, November 22, 2016

My Plate Tells My Story - A Thanksgiving Poem

My plate tells my story on this day,

just as all life begins.

From the time I ate at my high chair tray,

until my last meal ends.
As a child I enjoyed milk and little bites,

and let the crumbs fall where they may.

I made a mess for all to see,

each and everyday.
Still my Father filled my plate with all my needs,

cleaned me up and placed me on my feet.

Time did pass and I recall,

moving into my big chair.

Even though I was tall,

I needed someone there.
After each meal I helped clean up,

removing all the dishes.

I washed and dried each cup,

my thank-you, sweet kisses.
With loving arms He lifted me,

 as I came to Him on bended knee.

My teenage years I ate with speed,

so many places to go.

The food on my plate simply served a need,

time seemed to move so slow.
I began to snack and hurry through,

each lunch and dinner meal.

The table seemed like a chore to do,

as I obeyed His will.
My Father let me be,

all the while watching over me.

A grown-up child on my own,

my meals became quite slim.

I had no table at my home,

making do, though times felt grim.
Mixed matched dishes served with chipped glass,

I was going to do it my own way.

It was hard as those years would pass,

to reach out and pray.
A Father waited for an invitation,

He was always there loving me with no condemnation.

My table grew with a spouse and child,

and I began to recall what I had once dreamed.

Even though I was happy that my life was more mild,

I was missing passion so it seemed.
The meals were filling and the plates always full,

but somehow the place settings weren't right.

Our family meals were slightly dull,

and lacked the luster of light.
Our Father watched over us and blessed our bread,

never leaving us knowing we needed to be fed.

Then one day we chose as a husband and wife,

to begin each meal with thanksgiving

We made a commitment that changed our life,

by deciding to put Him first in our living.
As our family grows and our children mature,

we make giving thanks more than a tradition.

We know our daily choices help us soar,

over every trial or condition.
Our Father, who is hallowed name,

is yesterday, today, and forever the same.

When I glance down at my plate, before it overflows,

I remember what Jesus Christ has done.

His sacrifice covers me from my head to my toes,

and because of Him I overcome.
So I thank God for each blessing of food that I eat,

and know that it all comes from above.

No matter what I have done He has always been in His seat,

and will always be there to serve me His love.
Thank you Father on this Thanksgiving day,

I promise to honor you at each meal, I pray.

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