I Gave Christ the Head of the Table

We have our seats around the dining room table.  Our dining room is literally in the center of our house.  It is probably the most used room.  In the center of the dining room is our dining room table, an oval table with 6 chairs, 2 on each side for the children, and one on each end for hubby and me.

When hubby isn't home, his chair can become the catch-all chair, the free-for-all chair.  There are times the poor fellow comes home from work and his chair is covered, or being used by someone else.

Throughout the day with the children, I had assumed position in that chair, eating my meals at the head of the table, and teaching homeschool from that position.  Why not?  In the absence of my spouse, aren't I the authority?

Just the other day I decided to remove myself from that chair completely.  That chair, that spot at the dining room table is for Christ, and for my husband who is the priest of the home, a sort of in persona Christi.  So, when hubby isn't home, that is where Christ sits.  Not me.  Not my kids.  Guests may because the Bible says that being hospitable to others is being hospitable to Him.

As silly as this may sound to some, and as horrifying as it may sound to my evangelical friends and family, I bow and cross myself from time to time as I face or walk past the chair.  It reminds me that Christ has a place in our home, an honored place at the head, and that He is present.  It reminds me that He is there.

I do believe that giving Christ this chair will change our home and family for the better in holiness.  It also gives honor to my husband where honor is due.  When I honor Christ, I honor my husband better.

Two Dreams: One Beautiful, One Bothersome

Last night I had two dreams the involved Catholicism.

The Beautiful:

I was attending Mass, but towards the end I was distracted and being a Martha instead of a Mary.  I think I was shopping for something, and I remember pulling out fabric or a blanket.  Mass had ended at that point and out of the corner of my eye I saw the Father staring at me, arms crossed, foot tapping, but a playful, fatherly half-smile on his face.  I feigned like I didn't see him and busied myself with folding the material and putting it back.  At that point, I "noticed" Father and greeted him.  He smiled and invited me to sit in a pew and talk with him.  I was thrilled and I believe I told him that I had been hoping he'd invite me for a chat.  Indeed, he asked me my religious history.  I began by saying that I was born and baptized Catholic.  When I said that, an applause and cheer arose from around us.  It was other Catholics, some strangers, some people I went to school with.  Father explained how joyful they were at that news.  I said, "I'm a cradle Catholic!" but any conversation with Father was interrupted as my classmates and I started talking.  I don't recall what.

The Bothersome:

I am taken down this quiet residential city street in Amsterdam to this run down, interesting house that was for sale.  I am surprised to find out that that Dave bought it.  I am escorted in, though I never see by who, nor who drove me to the house, nor who narrates the tour.  The house smells, and is really run down, out dated, has a strange floor plan, and is giving me the creeps.  People are working on the house, cleaning it out, but I only really see Dave and my dad.  We make our way to the front of the house and I am particularly interested in the odd shuttered bay window I saw out front.  As I work the shutters, I notice they are broken.  Beyond that room is a narrow staircase up to a loft above the bay window.  It has old lumber in it, but I remark how it would make a nice play room for the kids.

Overall, I am a bit sickened by the house, but Dave eagerly sees the potential.  I pretty much want nothing to do with it until it is cleaned out and repaired, but I feel obligated to participate somehow.  I am overwhelmed, but trying to like it.

I refuse to go upstairs because I am frightened.  The downstairs was frightening enough.

My escort and I return to the rear room.  Here is the main staircase to upstairs and my father and yanking stuff he found hidden in the ceiling over the stairway entrance.  It is a ratty old wig and some other strange clothing.  Apparently, the granny who had lived in the house was really a grampy who had a penchant for dressing like granny.  This really adds to my uneasiness about the house and I say outloud, "this place needs a priest."  I use a post hole digger to pick up the garments and wig to dispose of them.  That's the last I remember.

This bothersome dream had me in prayer wondering what the meaning is.  In a way, I think the house is me.  There are so many ways I can unpack this, but I am falling asleep as I type.