Feeding a Broken Heart

My sweet potato casserole with both nuts and marshmallows.

In my Memaw's house, there was one cure for every ailment, love, and while that love may have taken on many forms over the years, it was usually expressed with food, all kinds of food. Holidays or just weekly dinners at her house, if she knew your favorite, it would be waiting for you at her table. Even if you were the only one in the house who would eat it, even if you protested her going through all the trouble, it was always there. If you were sick or sad, that called for special measures, and she pulled out all the stops. If you had something to celebrate, you could bet she would find a special food to fit the occasion.

Her recipe collection was extensive. She was always trying something new, testing another recipe on her all too willing subjects, the grandkids. I remember her talking about the failures she made, but oddly, I don't ever remember tasting one.

She put together a book of recipes for everyone a few years back, and my favorites are the ones in her own handwriting. We used to talk about the recipes in there, the ones she wanted to try, the ones I had tried. I called her as a new bride embarrassed I didn't even know how to make mashed potatoes from real potatoes. She laughed, told me what to do, and shared a couple stories about her cooking as a newlywed to make me feel better. I called her for holiday recipes when I wasn't able to make it home to her table for the meal. I sat and brainstormed with her when I learned of Jackson's allergies. I called her when I tried something new, just to share it with her. I loved talking with her about food. It was never a dull conversation, and more often than not, I walked away feeling more loved.

Sweet potato casserole in her casserole dish on her buffet table.

She used to tell me how proud she was of me, working so hard to cook for Jackson, making sure he had the best food possible. She used to say she didn't think she could have done it, which always blew my mind because I always thought she's where I got my need to feed. I heard similar words from others in my life, but her compliments meant the world to me because I knew food was her love language. I knew she was telling me she was proud of how I loved him.

She passed away in October, at 90 years old. This Thanksgiving, my family is scattered, but I know we all feel her absence. This Holiday in particular is hard because it's about food and family, exactly how you would describe her heart if you could only use two words, food and family. I had a few teary moments getting ready this morning, but as I prepared the sweet potato casserole, the dam burst. A flood of memories came to my mind, followed by a flood of tears.

It all came as I pulled out the casserole dish she gave me before she moved the last time. Her ability to cook had left her, and she wanted me to have some of her dishes. Today, reaching in, anxious to get it in the oven, I took one look and fell apart.

She didn't have a special recipe for sweet potato casserole, but she was the first person I called when I was trying to figure out my own. She said she liked the marshmallows on top, but Granny (her mom) liked the nuts until she couldn't eat them any more. I remember telling her, after I had figured it out, that I liked to do both, and then giggling with her about how that seemed like the perfect solution. I loved her giggle.

I'm grateful she gave me her casserole dishes before she moved. I'm also thankful for every recipe she left behind. They're like memories with taste and smell, like she's still here loving me even though she's gone. I know she's much happier now than when she was here stuck in that failing body, but I miss her so very much. And, I can't wait until we're feasting together in heaven, and I never have to tell her goodbye again.

Happy Thanksgiving, and a special prayer for peace and comfort if you have an empty seat at the table this year.

Public Apology

So, reading back through my first paragraph,
I decided I was pretty much describing my Memaw.
She passed in October, and I miss her so very much.

You know those people who are on top of things, who always know what to say for every situation, the people who always give the best gifts with the best cards at the perfect times, those who organize their calendars and never forget important dates or commitments, the people you can drop in on and always feel welcome finding a neat house with something cooking or brewing, those people you know you can count on when you need them because they are just those kind of people? I'm not one of those people. I want to be. I really do, but I feel like I might have dug a hole so big, it might be easier to just keep digging and find my way to the other side of the world.

If there were a need, I think I might be able to teach a class on what NOT to say in certain situations. There's a running commentary in the back of my head of all the terrible things I've said to people. Dumb things at weddings, baby showers, even funerals. If I'm able to respond in writing, I'm much better, but you can't be in a hurry because I have to type it out and mull over it. And, let's not even talk about Facebook. Even though, technically, it's in writing, there's something about that medium that lends itself to really stupid comments, of which I think I might be in the running for the most stupid.

I am probably the worst gift giver alive, and I am painfully aware that it is NOT the thought that counts. I've seen enough polite smiles and heard enough insincere thank yous to know the truth about just how much the thought counts. I'm always thinking about people, praying for people, but when it comes time to show it in a tangible way like a birthday or wedding, it's bad. Really bad. When you're married to someone who needs the thought AND the gift, i.e. the thoughtful gift, it's just plain awful. Too often, if I don't know what to give, I don't give. Another reason it isn't the thought that counts. I can think about it all day long, but if it never materializes into a gift, then it's like I didn't think about it at all.

My calendar looks like a 4 year old sat down with a box of crayons and created a masterpiece. There's no room for error, but it happens every week. I forget something, some activity, some important date, and sadly the people attached to those activities and dates suffer. It breaks my heart. I promise, I usually remember, but it's often not until midnight or 5 am the next day. Then I spend the rest of the time trying to figure out how to make it up to whoever or whatever I forgot, then I never get around to that either.

I think the last time I sent out a thank you note was my wedding. That's 13 years ago for those of you who don't know. I LOVE getting them. I know it's important. I plan every birthday or event to do better, but I just can't manage to pull it off. I've almost decided that the next time I send out invitations to an event, I'll just slip the thank you note into those. Be proactive, you know.

I crave order and neatness, but I usually end up with C.H.A.O.S. (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome). I love to cook and feed people. I love how the early church worked, food and fellowship, and I crave that in my own life. I have always wanted a home with an open door for anyone who needed a meal, a place to stay and/or a listening ear, but when you home school during the day and have one or more activities each night of the week with at least two activities on the weekend, you don't have room for a neat home and a home cooked meal not to mention a place at the table for the surprise guest.

I think the worst problem about being so busy and absent minded is the fact that I don't feel trustworthy or stable. It's in my nature to help and nurture people. I want so much to be that person you can call knowing you can count on me, and it hurts me to say I can't help.

I'm a mess. For real, and I'm always surprised at the people who still feel like I love them. I'm even more surprised at the people who really know me and still love me. Not that I'm unloveable, but the longer you know me, the more frustrating all my absent mindedness can get.

So, here's my public apology, all typed out and mulled over.

I'm praying for things to change, if not anywhere else but in my own heart. I want that running commentary of all the stupid things I've said to stop playing. I want to let go of all the failures and forgotten things and move on from here not trying so hard to get it all right. I want to really believe that praying isn't nothing. That sometimes it's enough to remember the people I love while I'm on my knees in communion with my God. I want to allow God to change how I view success and failure in my life. I want to accept the fact that I cannot work harder or do better, that I must rest in Jesus and allow him to make the difference in my life and in the lives of those I'm called to reach. As strange as it is, I want to believe He does know best. That I need to be still to be busy, slow down to go faster, and rest to get more done.

Help me, Lord Jesus.