“It’s not what's on the table that matters. It’s who is in the chairs.” How interesting that as I think back on the times I’ve feasted richly and my soul’s been satisfied, it’s not the food that was necessarily rich; it’s who I’ve shared the meal with. And so I remember some of the rich feasts I’ve shared over the years.
I’m in 5th grade, and have just been baptized (being Baptist explains why this didn’t happen as an infant). Holy Communion was always served after a baptism, and this would be my first. I will never forget the tangible, physical sensation of God’s presence as the wafer dissolved in my mouth; though I’ve often longed for a repeat of this touch in the decades since, it’s never happened so viscerally again. Looking back, the sharing of this ritual meal with God, my family, and my church family was the beginning of something new, a small seed planted in my soul that would grow throughout my life.
High school and college years were shared with my three best friends; we’d been together since grade school. Friday or Saturday evenings would find us around a table at our favorite neighborhood restaurant, eating Hawaiian burgers, apple pie with cinnamon ice cream, or drinking mint hot chocolate. Times of laughter and fun, sadness, secrets- a bonding time that has lasted to the present. We continue to meet for a weekend every summer, where we pick up where we left off… over simple meals and coffee. My soul being fed.
Our wedding back in the ’70s, when receptions were not held in a reception hall with a full meal, an open bar, and dancing. We ate in the church basement: sandwich loaf, cake, punch, and mints made by my Mom. A feast shared with our closest friends and family, gathered together to bless our marriage. A rich start to a life filled with even richer blessings.
The 15 years spent in Kenya, where traditional food could not be considered rich: meat, beans, ugali (a stiff porridge made by mixing cornmeal with boiling water), kale- all very bland and basic. But I remember most the meals we shared with dear friends in the slum, where we had to avoid stepping in raw sewage and children shouted “Mzungu, mzugu” (white person) as we walked by. The costly skinny chicken, slaughtered after we arrived, cooked over a small coal jiko stove, the ugali, the stew- everything prepared with love and generosity in a two-room mud house without running water. And tea, always a cup of sweet milky tea. The feast was rich and again my soul was nourished.
And then decades later, the meals we shared with our Indian friends while we lived in Vellore. Meals enjoyed in fancy resturants or in homes, or at church, because fellowship, friendship, and love are always shared over a meal. Definitely not bland, we enjoyed hot curry, spicy beans and lentils, rice, warm chapatis, deliciously sweet snacks with friends who accepted and included us as family. And sweet, milky, spicy chai. When our son and his family came to visit and we went to Delhi, our guide (who had become a friend after several trips there) took us to a hole-in-the-wall tea stall, where we drank more tea and marveled at just being together. And, then, up a rough, narrow stairway to the top of an old building, where we ate hot chapatis fresh off the huge, basic hot plates and overlooked the chaos of the city. Even now, my soul rejoices in those experiences.
Cue the ominous music, it’s 2020, the COVID year when my children made the decision (difficult but probably wise) to not meet all together; thankfully, each family decided that I could be in their little bubble. So, I had multiple holiday meals, Thanksgiving and Christmas, with each family separately and my husband in India. Rich, but bittersweet, full, but not quite. A reminder that family is everything and being all together is a blessing not to be taken for granted.
So many rich feasts with so many special friends and family members. My family once again all gets together and my heart is full, my soul satisfied. Funny how sharing a meal with family can miraculously transform hot dogs and burgers into the richest feast. “It’s not what's on the table that matters. It’s who is in the chairs.” 4th of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, and “just because”- every meal a rich feast with my favorite people in the world. Perhaps the only feast richer will be the eternal feast we will enjoy in Heaven with generations of family, friends, and God. May it be so.
— cmshingle
I’m in 5th grade, and have just been baptized (being Baptist explains why this didn’t happen as an infant). Holy Communion was always served after a baptism, and this would be my first. I will never forget the tangible, physical sensation of God’s presence as the wafer dissolved in my mouth; though I’ve often longed for a repeat of this touch in the decades since, it’s never happened so viscerally again. Looking back, the sharing of this ritual meal with God, my family, and my church family was the beginning of something new, a small seed planted in my soul that would grow throughout my life.
High school and college years were shared with my three best friends; we’d been together since grade school. Friday or Saturday evenings would find us around a table at our favorite neighborhood restaurant, eating Hawaiian burgers, apple pie with cinnamon ice cream, or drinking mint hot chocolate. Times of laughter and fun, sadness, secrets- a bonding time that has lasted to the present. We continue to meet for a weekend every summer, where we pick up where we left off… over simple meals and coffee. My soul being fed.
Our wedding back in the ’70s, when receptions were not held in a reception hall with a full meal, an open bar, and dancing. We ate in the church basement: sandwich loaf, cake, punch, and mints made by my Mom. A feast shared with our closest friends and family, gathered together to bless our marriage. A rich start to a life filled with even richer blessings.
The 15 years spent in Kenya, where traditional food could not be considered rich: meat, beans, ugali (a stiff porridge made by mixing cornmeal with boiling water), kale- all very bland and basic. But I remember most the meals we shared with dear friends in the slum, where we had to avoid stepping in raw sewage and children shouted “Mzungu, mzugu” (white person) as we walked by. The costly skinny chicken, slaughtered after we arrived, cooked over a small coal jiko stove, the ugali, the stew- everything prepared with love and generosity in a two-room mud house without running water. And tea, always a cup of sweet milky tea. The feast was rich and again my soul was nourished.
And then decades later, the meals we shared with our Indian friends while we lived in Vellore. Meals enjoyed in fancy resturants or in homes, or at church, because fellowship, friendship, and love are always shared over a meal. Definitely not bland, we enjoyed hot curry, spicy beans and lentils, rice, warm chapatis, deliciously sweet snacks with friends who accepted and included us as family. And sweet, milky, spicy chai. When our son and his family came to visit and we went to Delhi, our guide (who had become a friend after several trips there) took us to a hole-in-the-wall tea stall, where we drank more tea and marveled at just being together. And, then, up a rough, narrow stairway to the top of an old building, where we ate hot chapatis fresh off the huge, basic hot plates and overlooked the chaos of the city. Even now, my soul rejoices in those experiences.
Cue the ominous music, it’s 2020, the COVID year when my children made the decision (difficult but probably wise) to not meet all together; thankfully, each family decided that I could be in their little bubble. So, I had multiple holiday meals, Thanksgiving and Christmas, with each family separately and my husband in India. Rich, but bittersweet, full, but not quite. A reminder that family is everything and being all together is a blessing not to be taken for granted.
So many rich feasts with so many special friends and family members. My family once again all gets together and my heart is full, my soul satisfied. Funny how sharing a meal with family can miraculously transform hot dogs and burgers into the richest feast. “It’s not what's on the table that matters. It’s who is in the chairs.” 4th of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, and “just because”- every meal a rich feast with my favorite people in the world. Perhaps the only feast richer will be the eternal feast we will enjoy in Heaven with generations of family, friends, and God. May it be so.
— cmshingle
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