Today my coffee table made me cry.
No, I didn’t stub my toe on it while walking past. And no insensitive message was carved into its surface. I cried because of what this table means to my soul. I sat staring in awe at our old, worn, chipping coffee table. Its underside has crayon scribbles from the children of its previous owner. Its surface is riddled with imperfections and dented from repeated placement and removal of coffee mugs, computers, piles of books, and the occasional board game.
But to me, this is the Holy of Holies. It is where I commune with Jesus.
I often sit at this unassuming table during quiet times. Today I am surrounded by the memories of piles of books and commentaries, of carefully underlined scripture passages. Today I hear iPod playlists and the clackity-clack of computer keys as I record what I’m learning.
I read. I write. I pray. I fall in love.
This is the place where I’ve fallen into the ocean of God’s sovereignty with Jonah. Where I’ve gleaned truths about God’s providence with Ruth. Where I’ve learned to love the imperfect, and at times infuriating, church with Paul. And where the Lord meets quietly with me. It is my special, set apart, holy place. My temple. My altar. My Holy of Holies.
This is the place where I can write in my journal and express thankfulness and joy. It is where I can ask, “How long, O Lord?” and “Why have you forsaken me?” And it is where I wait for His answers. It is where I sit amazed that I can enter in to my very own Holy of Holies constantly, not just once a year. It is where I am reminded that Jesus constantly intercedes for me. It is where I am reminded of God’s constant pursuit of my heart.
This is my small, rough, chipped, wooden altar of blessing. It is the space where the sacred meets the ordinary.
My unassuming Holy of Holies.