Tonight God met me again in the kitchen.
Today wasn’t a particularly hard day. But it wasn’t a particularly easy one either.
For whatever reason – I blame it on the moon – the to-do list felt a little less manageable, the messes felt a little bit bigger, and the time a little shorter.
When I came home from work Sweet Man could tell that I was one kid-whining away from losing every bit of grown-up self-control I had. (I am not sure, but I think it might have been the twenty minute rant that tipped him off.)
And so he offered to make me my favorite meal.
Even though he had had his own rough day.
And I gratefully accepted.
Because I was empty and I needed to be fed.
And so he chopped and diced and I played my favorite records while I kept him company.
He boiled and simmered, and I, not wanting to be a completely useless blob, cleaned off the dining room table, placing a mismatched napkins and forks at each place.
He sauteed and stirred, and I sang with raw conviction Christa’s precious words “I’m tended by the ones who know me and hold me/In spite of what they have seen/”, as I did a little sock pirouette in the middle of the dining room.
And then later, at the table, gratitude for this amazing little life that I get to live filled me up to the brim, as my bowl spilled over with the fragrant, warm, and tender home cooked expression of my husbands love.
And I see – if only briefly thanks to my all-too wandering heart- that God has come to where I am, as I am, and met me through those that know me best, in ways that heal me, yet again.
And in that moment I am whole. I am full.