I picked up the little boy from a play date today. While standing in the kitchen there, the boy’sÂ mom, that I had just met, told me, in her southern drawl, that she put on far too many pounds from the holidays. Â She went home, to the south, and her mom cooked all her favorite meals for her, and she ate them all.
Oh, how I remembered how my own mom relished the same thing. Â And on that last Christmas, before she left us, how I literally gorged myself on her broccoli salad, and I remember how happy that made her. Â But I didn’t fully understand why, until I had my own kids to feed. I honestly couldn’t get enough of her salad, and that was so strange for me, Â to crave food like that. Â Looking back now, I always thought that was some kind of gift God gave her from me, the cravings, as a going away present before she died.
But, I didn’t linger long there with those thoughts. Instead, I thought of my own son, and how much of a job I had, while he was home, keeping him fed. He was working, and working out at the gym, to stay in shape for theÂ crew team, so he was hungry. Â Also, he hates the dorm food, and while he was home, I think I exhausted myself trying to make every single meal onÂ God’s green earth that he would love. Â There were a few I missed, but I did fairly well for the time we had.
It was quite a high to feed someone who was so ravenously hungry for every crumb I served.
Feeding him was my mission; and one I miss every night when I’m preparing the meals for the ones here, who seem to take good food for granted most nights… At least for now…