The first strum of Brandon’s guitar filled the sanctuary, and my throat tightened.
We were practicing his song. One that’s been tucked away for fifteen years. And this was the first time anyone had ever heard it beyond the two of us.
Just a few lines into the first verse, I couldn’t sing. The sound of it, all those voices and instruments weaving together, undid me.
The song was born long ago, but the years between then and now have carried so much waiting. When Brandon was diagnosed with cancer in 2014, his writing slowed and eventually stopped.
The brain biopsy left him with lasting cognitive challenges. Even holding chords on his guitar became difficult. For a long time, we thought those songs might stay shelved forever.
The place where gratitude and longing meet.
But here we were, a decade later, hearing the melody rise again.
And in that sound, I could almost see the table of Psalm 23. The one God prepares right in the middle of it all. The place where gratitude and longing meet.
November, in its quiet way, feels a lot like that table. Thanksgiving on one side, Advent on the other. Gratitude for what’s been, expectancy for what’s coming.
Between them sits this holy invitation: Come, sit down. I’ve already prepared a place for you.
We tend to think of the table God sets as a feast of answered prayers, a celebration after the battle is done. But David wrote Psalm 23 while enemies still surrounded him, not after they were gone. God didn’t remove the struggle — He prepared a table in it.
Sometimes His provision looks like strength to stand in the tension, peace in the waiting, or the quiet courage to pick up a song we thought was over.
For Brandon and me, that table has looked like hospital waiting rooms, late-night prayers, and the steady faithfulness of people who kept showing up. It’s looked like the slow return of creativity, the kind that moves at the pace of grace, not urgency.
Between Gratitude and Hope
And now, sitting at this in-between table, between gratitude and hope, past and future, I’m realizing how often God feeds us in these middle spaces.
He doesn’t rush us through them.
He meets us there.
This season between Thanksgiving and Advent reminds us of that truth.
It’s a time to look back and trace His goodness. To remember the ways He’s provided, comforted, restored. But it’s also a time to look ahead and whisper, Come, Lord Jesus.
When we pause long enough to notice both, something shifts in our hearts.
Gratitude softens us to receive, and expectancy keeps us leaning forward in faith.
Maybe that’s why God calls us to the table again and again. It’s where we remember who He is: the Shepherd who leads, the Host who prepares, the Savior who comes near.
Linger Between Gratitude and Longing
So this month, before the pace of December arrives, let’s linger here a little longer.
Let’s sit at the table between gratitude and longing and ask:
Where have I seen His goodness this year?
And where am I still waiting for it to unfold?
Write them down, side by side.
Prayers answered. Prayers still hanging in the air.
Then thank Him for both, because the same God who was faithful before will be faithful again.
When I think of Brandon’s song finally being sung after so many silent years, I’m reminded that God’s timing is rarely rushed but always redemptive. Every delay, every detour, every quiet season, none of it is wasted.
Even when the melody feels unfinished, He’s still composing.
Even when the table feels empty, He’s still preparing.
So, wherever you find yourself sitting this November, in gratitude, in longing, or somewhere between, may you find Him at the table too.
Because every act of worship, even one long delayed, is a reminder that God redeems what’s been waiting.
And every table He sets is a promise that He’s not finished yet.
Cultivations
For the Heart
Where do you sense God inviting you to linger this month? Not rushing past gratitude, not straining toward what’s next, but simply sitting with Him at the table between the two?
for the spirit
Lord, thank You for meeting me in the middle. Not only in beginnings and endings, but in all the quiet spaces between. Help me to see Your goodness in what has been and to trust You with what’s still to come. Teach me to rest at Your table, even when I don’t yet see the feast.
for the journey
Create a small table or corner of stillness in your week…a candle, a verse card, a few quiet minutes. As you pause there, thank God for one thing He’s already done and one thing you’re still believing Him to do. Let that moment become your in-between table of gratitude and hope.
