What We Bring to the Table
Giving and Receiving
What We Bring to the Table
The other day I was talking with my son, and this thought came up:
Everybody loves to share - but we can only share what we’ve got.
If all someone has is love, that’s what they bring to the table. If all they have is bitterness, that’s what they’ll offer too. Some people show up with judgment, resentment, suspicion, prejudice, even cruelty - not because they want to harm, but because that’s all they have to give. That’s what’s growing in their garden. That’s what fills their pantry.
So it falls on us, each of us, to be mindful of what we bring when we sit down with others. Don’t bring rotten fruit to the table. Don’t carry a spoiled harvest into the feast of human exchange. Take time - daily, quietly, consistently - to clear your heart. To quiet the buzzing of your mind. To soften your judgments. To grow a deeper tolerance, a more generous spirit, a sturdier inner peace.
Because what we cultivate, we share. And what we share, we become.
Now, the real trick is convincing ourselves to do this work. Especially when we feel justified in our anger when we’ve been wronged. When we feel unheard or unseen. When we carry generations of grief, or when someone else has already dumped a cartload of sourness on our doorstep.
But that’s the challenge of maturity - of citizenship, really. The fate of the nation rests on the shoulders of every one of us. Not on slogans or parties or televised debates, but on what we carry into our encounters. What tone we set in the small spaces. What we leave behind when we walk away.
When someone offers you rotten fruit, you don’t need to bite into it. But you also don’t need to throw it back at them. It’s best to be gracious. Try to understand that this offering is all they have. Don’t shame them for bringing it. Don’t mock their lack. Just receive it kindly, and move on.
That reminded me of a Sufi story...
A seeker traveled across the desert to visit a master. Wanting to offer a respectful gift, the seeker thought, “Water. What more precious thing could I bring in the desert?” So they brought the water to the master, who received it with gratitude: “Thank you for this thoughtful gift.”
The master then turned to his student and said, “Please take this and see to it.” The student quietly took the water outside and poured it into the bottomless well behind the master’s house—already full of sweet, abundant water.
The point wasn’t the usefulness of the gift. It was the spirit in which it was given. And the grace with which it was received.
It’s a practice - being generous in giving. And it’s another practice entirely - being gracious in receiving. Some folks are only comfortable giving, because giving feels like control. It puts them in the position of power. But receiving? That feels vulnerable. That’s where we tremble. That’s where we grow.
So this week, maybe pause and ask: What am I offering the people around me? What’s growing in my inner garden? Do I receive others with a gracious heart, or with suspicion? Do I give in order to stay in control, or do I know how to receive without retreating into defense?
We don’t need to be perfect. But we do need to be honest about the fruit we carry. And remember: it’s never too late to plant better seeds and do a bit of pruning.
Let’s Grow Together
If this reflection stirred something in you, I’d love to hear about it. What are you learning to bring to the table these days? Drop a comment, share this piece, or pass it to someone who might need it.
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Until next time,
Cecil