When I had my two R-babies (ages ago!) I wasn’t in community with people who practice the art of providing a meal. I didn’t even know it was a luxury some new moms enjoy, and I got along just fine. The smallest R in the house both times was being happily fed by me, and the husband in the house at the time was perfectly helpful in the dinner category. But two weeks ago, after All Hell Broke Loose (AHBL), the girls suggested that perhaps I could use help with meals as I try to regain my footing. I hesitated. For quite a while. After all, no one had just died, or been born in R-house. Then again, more than one doctor was comparing AHBL to a sudden death in the family. Or worse.
I accepted their offer to line up a few meals.
Thank God I did. And thank God for people who get that someone doesn’t have to die for a death to have taken place.
And who know that sometimes just getting through a day takes all the energy you can possibly muster.
And who understand that food is sometimes the purest form of love.
I have that kind of friends and family, so R-kids and I have had meals and leftovers for the past 10 days that have sustained us in more ways than I can describe.
On Sunday, one dear friend left me this care package at church. She actually pulled the whole thing together within hours of hearing my news – and then readjusted to give it to me a week later when our schedules didn’t work the first time. She instinctively knew: This girl needs nourishment. She even threw in a long spring scarf that happened to exactly match my Sunday outfit (and is my new favorite).
On the night of the second or third meal, R-boy wondered out loud, “Wait. Why are people bringing us meals?” Last night, R-girl echoed the question. (I guess it took a few days to notice we were off the usual dinner rotation…)
“Because it’s been a hard couple weeks,” I said, “and people care about us.”
And if we have to have an AHBL, at least we can stay fed… Right?
