Are You Ready to Take a Seat at the Grown-Up Table?

When I was a young child there used to be two tables for our large family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas: one for the children and one for the adults.

Such occasions spanned days in preparation, culminating in the grand event. There were early preparations of homemade bread, stuffing, and pies—and then there was the turkey carefully watched and basted from the wee hours of the morning until it was just right.  The delectable smells wafted through the air, teasing grumbling, growling stomachs into great roars of hunger.  Yet, despite the delicious torment, the anticipation only built, leading to the moment when all sat down to dinner: the children at the kiddie table and the adults at the grown-up table.

Once the blessing was said, a cacophony of noise erupted—spoons clacking against china, children calling out to mom “Don’t forget the mashed potatoes!” This one asking that one,“Pass the gravy, please,”  until all plates were full. Then, a new kind of silence reigned—broken only by the occasional sigh of blissful satisfaction. Of course, once initial hunger pangs were appeased, sound returned. The adults conversed while the children … Well, the children behaved like children at the kiddie table.

Once the meal was done, the children were free to run and play elsewhere, absolved of any responsibility except to entertain themselves and, ideally, not maim each other in the process. (I say that laughingly, but I can’t tell you how many times I actually heard the warning, “Don’t kill each other!”)

The adults of course had the responsibility of cleaning up—and the older children, or young adults, who sat at the grown-up table got to help. Though I sometimes heard complaints from my siblings—often in the form of, “It’s not fair you don’t have to help!”—I yearned to be a part of it all. I wanted nothing more than to be invited to sit at the table with the grown-ups, to contribute, and to take my place in what felt like a sacred rite of passage.

To me, such an invitation was a sign of readiness—a recognition that I was prepared for the greater responsiblity, that I was ready to be a part of something bigger.  When the invitation finally came, my excitement nearly burst my heart, yet a flicker of fear accompanied it. After all, one had to have strength and focus to pass the gravy boat filled to the brim without spilling a drop or to heft the overloaded platter of turkey to the person to the right. In addition, one couldn’t use their fingers, much less lick them, turn their napkin into an airplane, or wield silverware as weapons of mass destruction. No, decorum was required. Mastery of proper table etiquette was expected. Those who failed to meet the standard risked being relegated back to the kiddie table for another year.

Thus, I took great care to ensure that didn’t happen—and I cannot express the pride I felt at getting to stick my hands in the soapy dishwater afterwards. It was a privilege to wash the china, an unspoken acknowledgment that I had earned my place at the table.

I reflected on this experience today with great fondness and no small amusement at how I would now rather do just about anything than wash dishes. Yet, even so, I recall the swelling of my heart and the immense joy that came at being trusted with such a role. Not only did I get to eat and converse with the adults, but I also had the honor of helping to restore order to the world that was my universe as a child.

And then I realized—each of us is being granted this same opportunity now by the larger, wider universe.

The invitation to join the adults at the big table has been extended.

Just as I longed to prove myself ready at the family table, I now feel that same stirring in my soul—an invitation to step into greater spiritual responsibility. To accept the mantle that comes with it.

Now, as then, each of us must choose to take responsibility for our actions. We can no longer harpoon life’s challenges with the fork and knife of one emotional outburst after another and blame everyone but ourselves. We cannot fold our probems into our napkins and sail them into the lap of another while feigning innocence of our own wrongdoing. We cannot stick our fingers into the pie of ignorance, smear it all around, then scratch our heads and wonder how the world came to be in such a state of chaos.

No, this invitation requires us to open our eyes wide and acknowledge what each of us has created—and to take responsibility for it. No more pointing fingers at others, saying, “He/she did it!” We’ve all done it. We’re all in this together.

The question becomes: Who among us is ready to accept the invitation to sit at the big table with the adults—and to assume the role of leadership and the responsibility that comes with it?

It’s not an easy question to answer.

It takes commitment, fortitude, devotion, and more to earn that spot at the big table. And even then, one is still the youngster compared to the elders who presently sit there. There is still much to be learned, much growth and progression to be made before one is ready to speak and be heard as an equal. But still, for myself, it is an invitation I have no intention of refusing.

The unspeakable joy that comes from acceptance is too precious a gift to walk away from. I, for one, am ready to receive that gravy boat brimming with divine knowledge and wisdom. I look forward to the privilege of carefully sharing and passing it along. I am ready to lean in and test my strength in lifting that platter full of self-realization, healing, compassion, and love—the kind of love that sees all for who they choose to be and loves them anyway.

So, my unequivocal answer to the invitation is, “Yes! I accept. I am ready to transition from the kiddie table to the grown-up table.”

What about you? Where are you in your journey? Are you still playing at the kiddie table, waiting for someone else to clear your messes? Or are you ready to step up, take responsibility, and be a force for wisdom, love, and transformation?