Comfort Food

Tonight I write as a praise. A shout it from the rooftops, throw out all the straws for the sensitivity is gone, give God a hand praise. This is the first time in a day short of exactly four months that I have been without mouth pain. And so to celebrate His faithfulness; here is a post on something I've grown to love over the years. Food. Mmm, food.

I come by it honest. This picture sits in my kitchen and has done so every year since that cold, February morning she went to be with Jesus. Let me introduce you to the beautiful woman sitting on the hood of that sweet, old classic. She was someone very special; my Mamaw, May Violet.

She loved food too. Sure, she enjoyed it for the taste of home grown tomatoes on made from scratch biscuits to be washed down by cold glasses of sweet tea. Yet, I also know it went so much deeper. She, like me and like so many of the women in my family and maybe yours, knew food made with love holds a secret. It invites people to gather around a table, to share about their days, and to suddenly be connected in a way they otherwise might not have been. In that way food is not really food for the stomach at all. It is for the soul.

And that is the best kind of meal.

I'll never forget those 2 am trips to the kitchen because she just knew I was craving a skillet full of real french fries made from actual potatoes and a game of Rummy or Slap Jack. I'll never forget heavy iron pans holding corn bread, with a big pot of stew simmering on the stove, while she shared stories about growing up in the Blue Ridge mountains. No, I'll never forget when she got so sick that she told Mom and I, as we decorated her Christmas tree for her, that she would give anything, anything if she could just get up and cook us a meal. I knew what she meant, and it had nothing to do with the food itself. It was the time she wanted back. The memories and the togetherness.

Yes, tonight my heart is full. Not just because that dull, and not so dull at times, mouth pain of mine is gone. But because that simple meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup you see is just what my own mother would make for me when days had been long or sickness had come my way. I can just imagine her as a little girl being served something similar from Mamaw's heart and stovetop. That picture I now know why I randomly took one night is what I gave to my little girl recently and heard her ask for, "More, Mommy. More!"

That is my prayer. For more memories and togetherness. For more meals shared around a table that is open to all those who want someone to listen. For countless more times to praise Him, whether the meals of life have been hard or easy to cook.

I simply long for more chances just to be in the kitchen.