Thursday, November 10, 2011

The Special

This morning I was sitting at the counter trying to write a paper for school (and grousing about it. ;) ) and I started craving a little something...or a big something. 

I thought about the bacon in the refrigerator and the potatoes in the pantry.  Then I thought about making bacon, eggs and home fries.  Not exactly a heart-friendly meal.  Not exactly a quick fix but comfort food.

As I abandoned the schoolwork to tie on my apron (all that grease splatters, you know), I thought that maybe I was missing my dad and his signature breakfast, one an old boyfriend used to call "The George Special":  crispy bacon, eggs over easy and home fries soft on the inside and crispy, peppered goodness on the outside, with golden brown toast on the side.  All I am missing is some orange marmalade...and my dad.

My father was never one to say, "I love you."  The first time he did say it was when I was a freshman in college, the day my mom had a triple bypass and I had food poisoning.  It was December 2nd.  I don't hold it against him.  I knew he was always there for me and he was forever driving me and my friends, tolerating the obscenely loud music and waiting for ridiculous amounts of time for me to be ready.  He just didn't express love with words or hugs.  He was far more comfortable with acts of service.

Today as I assemble the greasy goodness in my own kitchen, counters covered with papers and books and stuff, I am far removed from the uber-tidy kitchen of my youth.  It's not just the clutter though, but a feeling of warmth and love and care that I felt sitting at that round table waiting for my plate to arrive; a sense of security.

I wonder, am I creating the same sense of home and love and care here as I felt there, even when the "care" was suffocating and sometimes confidence-stealing it was always there.  I think when I wrote about going home this is the feeling I was seeking.  I didn't find it when I went home, but I pray that my own children feel that safety and security and love (but not the suffocation) at our home. 

That is my goal, for them to feel loved and secure.  And for them to know they are loved by One who is far greater than our wildest imaginations, One who can love more unconditionally and completely than human comprehension.  I rest in that love when I miss my earthly parents, knowing they did the best they could in the ways they could and that I am abundantly blessed to have eaten those "George Specials" for so many years.


1 comment:

  1. Like you, my dad wasn't very demonstrative with his affection. Isn't it great we can build on the foundation we were given, and offer a little more to our kids. I hope that building continues to my grand(gulp)kids someday. :)

    I've had a hard time posting lately, but know that I'm still reading!