Accepted at the Table

I was sittin’ on the back porch last Tuesday, sipping a mug of coffee that had long ago gone cold, thinking about the world and how it seems to have its knickers in a twist. My dog, Buddy, lay stretched out in the sun, snoring like a chainsaw, and I reckon he doesn’t care about much besides food, shade, and a butt scritch.

Some folks might say I’m stubborn. I call it principled.

I’ve been hearin’ a lot about people getting “canceled” lately. You say one thing that doesn’t sit right with the masses, and suddenly, you’re public enemy number one, ostracized, shunned, maybe even unfriended by folks who’ve known you for years.

Hell, it makes a man wonder if honesty’s worth a hill of beans. I thought about that while Buddy sneezed on my shoe.

“Bless you, boy,” I muttered. “Even the universe’s smallest things get rejected sometimes.”

See, I grew up in a place where words had weight, and promises meant something. My granddaddy always said, “Tommy, you’ll find the world’ll twist you up if you let it, but Christ don’t give a hoot about what the world thinks. He’ll still put bread on the table for you.”

I didn’t fully understand it then, mostly because I was busy runnin’ barefoot through fields, but I get it now.

I reckon there’s a difference between rejection and judgment. Folks in the world can turn on you faster than a cat on a hot tin roof, but that doesn’t mean you’ve done wrong.

It just means the world’s got its own blind spots, and it’ll judge without knowing a thing about your heart. Christ, on the other hand, well, He’s the only one I figure that really sees straight.

He doesn’t cancel you for your mistakes or misunderstandings, or throw you out for speakin’ your mind or lovin’ the wrong people at the wrong time. He’s patient, the kind of patient that makes Buddy look like an impatient whippersnapper when he’s waitin’ for supper.

I took another sip of coffee and thought about the things I’d said recently. Things that got some folks riled up.

Online, they’d call it “controversial.” Around the local diner, they’d call it “stirrin’ the pot.”

But in my own quiet mind, I knew it was true, or at least honest. And the truth, no matter how messy, is better than a mouthful of lies that please everyone else but rot your own soul.

My neighbor leaned over the fence and hollered, “Tom, you talkin’ about gettin’ canceled again?” I grinned and said, “I’d rather be canceled by the world than rejected by Christ.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood something he didn’t have words for. Sometimes, the right kind of trouble comes with a conscience intact.

Other times, it’s just plain foolishness. You gotta know the difference.

I reckon you do by watchin’ your heart while the world’s tryin’ to yank it out of your chest.

Buddy stretched and yawned, turning over to show me his belly, his eyes half-lidded in contentment. I ran my hand down his middle and thought about grace.

Real grace ain’t about popularity. It ain’t about followers, likes, or gettin’ your name in the paper.

It’s quiet and still. It’s the kind of thing that keeps you sittin’ on a creaky porch at two in the afternoon, coffee long gone cold, and feelin’ the sun on your face anyway.

We can spend our lives tryin’ to please everyone, but there’s a cost. A heavy cost.

It’s called your soul. And if you’re gonna spend it like it’s worthless, you might as well get a drink and toast the whole mess.

But if you care about where it goes, about who sees it, about the One who matters most, then you don’t worry too much about being canceled. You worry about bein’ rejected by the only One who counts.

By the time the sun was sinkin’ behind the ridge, I’d finished my coffee and Buddy was dozin’ off again. The world could raise its voice, scowl, point fingers, and call me every name under the sun.

I’d hear it, sure. But I’d sit right there on that porch, let the wind brush against my face, and remember my granddaddy’s words: the world can take your name off a list, but Christ keeps your name on His table.

And that’s a table worth more than all the lists in the world.