Early Easter morning, I awoke to the chatter of a task-list unfurling in the groggy corridors of my brain.
Glaze and bake the hams
Cook the cheese sauce
Slice the pies
Go, go, go, go, Christ is risen, indeed.
I hadn’t bothered to run it past Cory two weeks earlier, when the spirit of the Lord came upon me at Bible study and I blurted out, “We’re hosting Easter lunch for anyone who wants to come.” My only promise was a meal that wouldn’t be fancy, but would hopefully be delicious. Fifteen people signed up, which meant fifteen temporary citizens of work release had no better option than to show up at an unfamiliar house and cobble together a clumsy “family” holiday.
If they had the courage to sign up, I would do my part to make it worth it.
I’ve learned it doesn’t matter how much prep I do ahead of time. Come morning, what’s left on the list somehow expands, spilling its borders, flooding the capacity of even the chillest hostess, which I certainly am not, but it brings me peace to believe this is universal. Let me have this.
As I rummaged for the rosemary hidden somewhere on the congested top shelf, a jar of bay leaves fell and shattered the ironstone tray on the counter. I summoned the grit of my sturdy Midwestern matriarchs and stoically swept the shards away. Those rolls aren’t going to butter themselves!
Next, I over-salted the beans.
To cap things off, I’d forgotten to buy napkins and Cory still wasn’t back with the extra folding chairs. How many guest would there be? No one knows. Would all fifteen of them end up bailing out? It’s not unheard of. Or, would they all bring extras and we’d be left without enough food? Equally possible.
Feeding people is a nerve-wracking enterprise under the best circumstances. Things go wrong. Time runs out. The overall vibe ends up being “awkward, with a side of Kroger double cherry pie.”
In the end, it is always worth it. (A lesson only learned through practice.)
In my most recent book, Start with Hello, I wrote about the paradoxes and practices of ordinary togetherness. The part that’s most difficult to explain is the intangible, “just trust me” aspect. My life is proof that as we push ourselves out of comfort and into courage, the hunger grows.