Recently, while both my husband and I were “under the weather,” our daughter offered to, first, have food delivered to us, then decided to make soup which she would bring, and as she termed it, “plate it” for us…provided certain protocols were observed on our part. Since she had upcoming travel plans, she didn’t want to risk being “contaminated.” Of course, we were grateful for the gesture but would have certainly understood if she didn’t make it –either the soup or the trip – under the circumstances.
Later in the evening, she arrived, as promised, with soup and fixings, and after determining it was safe to enter our abode and making sure her own mask was securely in place, she went into the kitchen and did all that was necessary to “plate” the soup and its accompaniments for our nourishment and enjoyment. Then, she served it to us…the “old people,” as another daughter had earlier characterized us. (Let me just say, I am not feeling that characterization yet, even in my then infirmity…but I digress.)
This was a new soup she had prepared for us, just discovered and newly tried, so of course, she wanted to know how we liked it. Her dad loved it. I was less enthusiastic in my response. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, but it had some ingredients with which I was unfamiliar, and I just wasn’t sure. And while I wasn’t as enthusiastic in my response, I still thought it was pretty good. Besides, I had had food a little earlier, it was late, and I wasn’t very hungry. But still, she seemed a little disappointed. I assured her that the soup was fine and that I would eat it all later.
After she’d gone and I started thinking… about the soup…about her effort…her willingness to drive 30+ miles both ways to deliver and “plate it” for us, her desire to provide us with sustenance and gift us with her time and presence…as I reflected on the taste of the soup…it came to me, I know what it tastes like. I know exactly what it tastes like. It tastes like love.
Yep. That was it. The taste of love. And it tasted even better the 2nd day after it had had a chance to settle in and I finished the bowl.
I am a storyteller, a poet, a teacher, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a lover of life, a lover of God, a lover of words and of The Word. Proverbs 12:25 says: “Anxiety weighs down the human heart, but a good word cheers it up.” That’s what I desire to do – Share a good word!
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