I’m probably going to have to
make supper again tonight.
It doesn’t seem right. I mean, I
just made supper yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that. As
of today I’ve been married 8,819 days. Let’s say I made supper 80% of those
days; that means I’ve put food in front of my loved ones roughly 7,055 times. Do
I really have to do it again??
I should clarify here. My
reluctance isn’t because I don’t like cooking. The part that drives me bonkers
is the decision-making. It just wears me right out. Every night I need to CHOOSE
what we should eat. Every. Stinkin’. Night.
I know some women who are
organized and efficient and make a meal plan for a week, maybe even two weeks. They
know what’s in their pantry, rotate food in the fridge to make sure nothing
sits too long, and make sure every meal not only offers appropriate
representation of each of the food groups but is also color-coordinated.
I envy that level of kitchen
organization. When I try to imitate it, though, it all falls apart and I’m once
again staring into the fridge at 6:00 p.m. wondering what in the world I’m
going to feed my poor hungry offspring. Nope, making supper is not my favorite
thing to do.
You know what I’m going to do
tonight, though? I’m going to make supper for my family. And not just because I
don’t want them to starve. (My daughter, on a day when I was lamenting my weak
parenting skills: “Mom, really. Being a mother means making sure your children
don’t die. You’re fine.”)
I’m going to make them supper
because giving them food…and agonizing once again about that doggone decision
of what to make…is telling my family that I love them.
There’s a powerful connection
between food and love. From the instant of our birth, and even before, we are flooded
with the duality of food as a source of both nourishment and comfort.
All along our lifespans we
nurture this connection. A casserole for a new parent. Cookies to thank the
kind neighbor. A from-scratch cake with peanut butter-chocolate frosting to
make a birthday boy feel cherished. A pot of soup because there aren’t words to
make things better. Food is love.
My meals are weird. They’re
usually edible, but Rachael Ray I am not. I try not to cook for other people
because, well, it’s embarrassing. (“Mom, what IS this?” “It’s food. Eat it.”)
But when I hand my husband and kids their plates of whatever I’ve thrown
together, I hope they know that it’s not just food.
It’s love.
--------
Taste and see that the Lord is
good. I am the Bread of Life; he who comes to Me shall not hunger. Whether you
eat or drink do all to the glory of God. The feeding of the 5,000. Manna in the
wilderness. The fruit of the Spirit.
The Bible is full of food. Throughout
the Old and New Testaments there are hundreds of references to eating, cooking,
provision, meals… The book that we hold as our tangible written connection to
God Himself is loaded with down-to-earth recognition of our very basic, very
human need to eat.
There’s something sweet about
God taking care of His people by feeding them. Feeding their souls, yes. But
also filling their stomachs. Taking care of their most rudimentary needs. I
like that scripture is full of pictures of a tender Parent providing for His
children, showing them on a simple, even-humans-can-understand level that He is
love.
I’m filled by loving gifts from
my Heavenly Father each day. Chips & salsa and Swiss cheese and warm
chocolate chip cookies, absolutely, mmmm. But fed in my other parts, too. Fed
by the knowledge of the Lamb that was sacrificed so I can be a forgiven child. Nourished
by the Word that I can ingest and savor. Filled by being loved when I’m at my
most unlovable.
Shortly before He ended His time
on earth, Jesus turned to His dear friend Peter. “Feed My sheep.” Three times
He repeated His command, begging His friend to carry on His mission. You can
almost hear the catch in His throat, the deep yearning in His voice as He
pleaded: “Feed My sheep.”
He wasn’t talking about the fluffy
lambs in the neighbor’s field, you know. He was talking about us. We’re the
fed.
And…we’re the sheep-feeders.
There are so many around us who
need comfort. Who need nourishment of the body and of the soul. There are so
many opportunities each day for kindness, for reaching into each other’s lives
with giving hands and loving hearts.
Food is love. We’re so
loved…we’re so well-fed…mightn’t we have some extra to spread around? Mightn’t
we warm the hearts of people around us, perhaps by the simple, loving gift of a
little bit of food?
Take the casserole. Sign up for
the meal train. Bake the cookies. Fetch the slice of cheesecake. Find something
for dinner. It’s all love.
Eat up. Enjoy the cookies. And
then go feed His sheep.
First published in The Alpena News on October 13, 2018.
