Sit down with love

In church today, I was thinking about my mother,
wishing I could hear her alto next to me,
sweet harmony to the common melody.
Later John said, as part of his sermon,
"You must sit down with love."
Once he said that, I stopped listening to him
and started thinking about this.
Sitting down with love at a round farm table.
Sitting with love to my left and my right.
Using my very best manners with love,
not out of fear anymore but respect. 
Passing love the salt. Passing love the potatoes. 
Making sure love had enough elbow room,
(because I am pretty sure love is left handed.)
I thought about serving love vegetables from the garden
and water, the coldest water, in jelly jars.
I pictured the laughter, the way laughter
shows up on the face, unable to hide.
And talking.  Love talking to us,
but mostly just listening and nodding.
I am certain love would want dessert
and a warm cup of coffee well after the meal.
That love would lean back in the chair,
balancing on two legs, occasionally pulling back,
needing to pull back from the sheer force of it all. 
You must sit down with love,
he said.  And this is what I pictured.
Not exactly what my mother ever gave me,
but what I know she wanted to give all along.