At least once a month, our family gathers around my kitchen table. It is a simple rhythm of renewal and connection — a way for me to weave the Gospel into the everyday rhythms of life. This “home monastery,” as I call it, is a sacred place where ministry begins at the heart and stewardship becomes an act of love.
As part of preparing for these gatherings, I reach for a particular set of serving trays.
They aren’t new, but they carry a legacy.
Two years ago, after my parents endured a season of multiple crises, I helped them downsize and move across the country to be closer to me. Their home was filled with a lifetime’s worth of treasures — boxes that seemed to have journeyed through decades of everyday celebrations, sorrows, and simple moments of togetherness. The sorting process was both logistical and emotional, requiring piles for Goodwill, storage at their new house, items for immediate use, and, to my dismay, a pile labeled “Raechal’s House.” I became, somewhat reluctantly at first, the caretaker of a portion of their legacy.
Pic – @abigailpauley
Among the items that found their way into my care was a set of hammered aluminum serving platters. These trays hold a special place in my childhood memories. At every family gathering, they graced the table, filled with sweet and savory offerings. More than vessels for food, they were symbols of connection and hospitality. My mother poured love into every detail — thoughtfully choosing the dishes she served and taking care to present them with tenderness. These trays had served more than food.
They had served the soul.
Each scratch and worn edge holds a memory — from birthday cakes carried out to off-key singing, to holidays spent with family and friends. When the gatherings ended, the trays were lovingly cleaned, dried, and stored away, waiting for the next occasion.
Now, these platters rest in my dining room, continuing the legacy they began decades ago. Just as my mother used them to foster relationships and build community, I bring them out for our gatherings — where they serve not just food, but love, comfort, and belonging.
As I load them up with food prepared with love, I am not simply serving a meal.
I am carrying forward a tradition of hospitality.
I am tending the soul of my home and the people God places around my table.
The trays have become part of the quiet rhythm of our little home monastery, inviting all who enter to break bread, find belonging, and share in the sacred joy of community — simple acts of stewardship and love that tend the soul in unseen, lasting ways.
And now, the trays — once carried by my mother’s hands — carry a new kind of offering: a gift to her of the same love, care, and hospitality she once so freely poured into me.
As I carry this tradition forward, I wonder –
Where have you felt the quiet strength of maternal love in your own life?
Is there something you now carry as part of your own legacy, passed down from your mother or a mother figure?
From my heart to yours
Until next time
Raechal!
#Mothersday #Giftoflove