Twenty-two years ago -- and only a few months after our wedding day -- my husband and I knocked on the door of a church acquaintance’s apartment. She’d invited us to join her and her three sons for dinner. It was her wedding gift to us. We were touched. We’d never been to her home before but we knew a good bit of her story. Her on-again, off-again husband lived in prison. Each time he got out he promised to sober up, quit the drugs and be her man. Each time he left her jobless, pregnant and broke.
Since her quiet invitation following service one Sunday I’d tried to imagine what dinner in her home would look, feel and taste like. She weighed probably less than 100 pounds herself and I wondered what sort of food she had to offer. Frankly, I was nervous.
We arrived to her hot kitchen, children and their toys cluttered bare floors. She stood over a pot on the stove, stirring bubbling water. On the counter a blue and gold box, cardboard lid ripped open, stood our entree: Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
Frankly, I was relieved. We knew this food. It gave us something in common. Turned out the entree was the entire meal, we sat where we could find a seat, television blaring and enjoyed creamy noodles and awkward conversation.
It's one of the best gifts I've ever received.
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