Reckoning on Dinner.....

[domoore]

January 28, 2008


I had been contemplating dinner for some time. This seems to be one of those never ending questions. I plan a meal- and then—before I know it—it is time to plan another meal. What will I make now? And the kids—bless their little pea picking hearts—bombard me with “What can we eat? We are so hungry!” And my personal favorite, “What’s for dinner?”

I am a “fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants” kind of gal. I rarely plan that far ahead! So as dinnertime rolled around tonight, I hadn’t a clue what I would be making for us to eat. I took a few minutes and scrounged around in the freezer- and found a box of fish. Perfect! I would put some veggies and rice with it- and viola! Dinner!

Without much more thought- I set about preparing the six fish fillets- drizzling olive oil on my pan- and seasoning the meat with lemon pepper and a sprinkle of sea salt. And then it hit me square in the face. I don’t think this was the very first time I have done this—but rather- it is the very first time I was cognizant of what I had done. I stood there in amazement —counting and re-counting. Figuring in my head—yes—that is right. Five kids- one adult- that equals six. There on the metal baking pan before me—was the right amount of food. Enough to serve six.

Preparing just enough for six—rather than seven—I can not recall when this started happening. I simply do not know. It was a strange sort of revelation for me. It wasn’t that long ago that I had to prod myself into setting out six. I had to consistently remind myself we were no longer seven—but six.

And therein would be found more stinging reminders. If seven is a number indicating completion—what is six? This thought certainly implied inferiority—less than complete. And for many months—that is how I have felt—less than complete- less than whole. Not only as a family- in light of the missing “Poppy”—but I also felt incomplete as a woman—with out my dear husband. And of course the label “single parent” also implies- a certain amount of incompleteness.

The very act of setting out six- rather than seven would invoke tears for me. In such moments- I was forced into remembering my loss. I was forced into fresh grief and tears.

Experts say that it takes 30 days to learn a new habit. I know it took longer than thirty days for me to begin planning meals for six—without dredging up Donald’s death. It took longer than thirty days to plan a meal without figuring Donald into the head count. Somewhere between his death and this present moment- I have formed a new habit—one in which Donald’s absence doesn’t penetrate every waking moment of my day. It was a strange revelation to me. How did this happen?

Not that I am complaining—but I am more or less curious about this new habit. I formed this habit without really planning or putting conscience effort into making this change. This habit is one that formed without much mental or physical anguish on my part. Most often- forming new habits requires much intentional effort and energy to see that change through.

There I stood over those frozen cod fish fillets- contemplating the fact that I had not really ever decided to change that habit. Not so long ago—I figured dinner by thinking in terms of seven minus one—six. And now- I reckon on six. When did I start short cutting my math? I always think through all the steps-- and yet- here I have made a short cut. I plan on six without another thought.

What does this say about me? Shall I now be labeled- heartless- loveless- without compassion—all because I failed to think of my deceased husband whilst preparing dinner? And more than that- I have apparently been doing so for some time! Good Grief! As hard as I try- I can not muster any feelings of guilt or remorse in this conversation with myself. I can not even reason that I am “bad” for having unwittingly formed this new habit.

But instead- I guide my mind to think of how my heart has healed. I did make a decision to let God heal my broken heart. With each painful minute- where stinging tears- burned wet trails down my cheeks—as I mourned my loss—I did so with the ultimate purpose of healing. I continued to place before myself- the choice to heal. To NOT remain and wallow in grief. To NOT remain and wallow in despair. I chose to embrace mourning and grieving- for the greater work of healing—which God Himself would do in and through me. To embrace my pain, to allow myself to hurt- and ache—and feel my loss. To recognize the broken dreams- my dashed hopes- and to mourn those losses- and ultimately to heal.

And once again- I have found God to be faithful. He has eased this pain. This area of my heart has finally reconciled itself with reality- and indeed it is a blessed rest and relief.

copyright 2008

[Angeline W]

Dearest Julia,

Today its the 10th month exactly. Those hot stinging tears burst the dam and I found it so hard to slumber tonight as my heart aches so badly. So just by catching up on your posts have helped soothe my heart and helped put things in perspective.

Love,

Angeline

[domoore]

My Dearest Angeline,

It does get better in time....
May God's healing hand and grace sustain you as He continues to work in your life...

I love you my sister in Christ-
My sister in widowhood-

Blessings,
Julia