Mama’s Christmas Table

He pressed his tiny cherub face
Against his mother’s table lace.
On tippy toe so he could see
Then clapped his hands in childish glee.

For there upon the table spread
Were golden loaves of homemade bread,
And mounds of mashed potatoes high
And mama’s homemade apple pie.

And in the center, big and fat
A golden roasted turkey sat;
Surrounded by the other things
That Christmas dinner always brings.

Then slowly trudging down the hall
He watched the big clock on the wall
‘Cause mama said that they would sup
When both the hands were pointing up.

At last he hears the big clock chime
And mama’s call, “It’s dinnertime!”
And hurriedly he finds his place
And waits till dad says table grace.

And all the world is perfect then
And he’ll think back time and again
And wish to God that he were able
To sit at mama’s Christmas table.

William Raymond Waterman, Sr.
From my book
“Ringing of the Bells”

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10 thoughts on “Mama’s Christmas Table

  1. What a delightful picture of a godly home and the celebration of the family honoring the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. Godly mamas are like that, Bill.

  2. Bill, your poetry gives credence to, “Train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6 (NKJV)

    Your musings’ gives hope to Mothers everywhere as we labor, hope and pray the same will be said of us by our children. At the same time causes us to ponder and reflect upon our Christmas table.

    One of my best memories of Mama’s table was oyster dressing, fruit cake and syllabub made with Granddaddy’s home made wine.

    I also have fond memories of Aunt Merle’s favorite recipe that I would like to share.

    One handful of forgiveness, one heaping cupful of love, a full pound of unselfishess, mix together smoothly, with complete forth in God.
    Add two tablespoons of wisdom, one teaspoon of good nature for flavor. Then sprinkle generously with thoughtfulness. This makes a wonderful family pie,

  3. What a comfort poem Bill. It warms the heart and brings back memories of my own mother’s table and appreciate the love and care it took her to prepare it on Christmas day. Mothers are great memory makers.

  4. Bill, where did you grow up? Your family holiday menu sounds like mine in the South. But, I am sure others in other locales had some of the same goodies. And, a Mother’s love shines throughout the world.

    I have reread your poem today and my mind and heart flooded with thoughts of hope for sons and daughters serving our nation from a far distance from Mother’s table. Peace to all, I pray.

    Psalm 23:5, gives us such calm assurance, “Our God prepares a table before us in the presence of our enemies.

  5. Thank all of you for such nice comments about my poetry. I love writing of my memories of childhood. I have so many delightful memories of home and Christmas. We were country folks living in the hill country surrounding Marietta, Ohio. We were extremely poor as for temporal things, but rich indeed in the love that abounded in our home. My mother died at forty-six years of age of a cerebral brain hemorrhage and my father passed away in his eighties. My father died surrounded by his children and those whom loved him, two of his granddaughters each held to his hands. I thought to myself “My God, what a rich man is passing”.

  6. Bill’s nostalgic scenarios conjure up a yearning for, “over the river and through the wood to Grandmother’s house we go…” sort of emotions. Some call them the good ol’ bad ol’days. But the simplicity of that era without a multitude of distractions seemed to give people more time for home, and family and neighbors and God, (maybe).
    I know that each generation says the same thing about the previous but we do see a sort of “winding up” or is it “winding down” of life as we know it on planet Earth. Those familiar scenes that Bill describes so lovingly are but a fragrant memory in time and not to be experienced again, here, sadly to say, but in thoughts and memories. And now we, like Abraham, look to a new city, with a fixed and firm foundation whose Architect and Builder is God. And we take our lovely memories of godliness and happiness and we are transported to our new dwelling place where we will all meet again in OUR FATHER’S HOUSE.

  7. Bill, thanks for sharing. Your Mother was so very young when she left this earth for her new home and quite awhile ago. Yet, your poetry gives us a today view of her exemplary life as a Mother. Your Father indeed was rich having such a deep relationship with his family.

    Jesse Dixon, of The Gaithers communicates in song so well,” I wonder what they
    are doing in heaven right now.” Your poetry communicates this message as well.

    I hope many reading your work will take time to applaud their maker.

  8. This sounds so much like my own home in rural Virginia. We always had lots of family in for Christmas and afterwards games. Our parents showed us the slow version of Monopoly so we took hours to play. Grandma always had a mint in her pocket for us. Mom had waxed the floor to a high sheen and the wax permeated the air. I think if I could close my eyes I would smell it even still. With such a large family gathering we would have lots of desserts – cakes, cookies, apple and pumpkin pie. What wonderful memories of family gathered around the Christmas table. Thanks for sharing your beautiful poem which touched a memory in me.

  9. Bill,
    What a wonderful picture you have painted, with your words. It makes me want to sit down and share that meal with you and your family. Thanks so much, for sharing your beautiful poetry.

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