I picked up the little boy from a play date today. While standing in the kitchen there, the boy’s mom, that I had just met, told me, in her southern drawl, that she put on far too many pounds from the holidays. 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. 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. 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, to crave food like that. 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 the crew team, so he was hungry. Also, he hates the dorm food, and while he was home, I think I exhausted myself trying to make every single meal on God’s green earth that he would love. 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…