A few weeks into our marriage, Jason made a heartbreaking declaration over a bowl of spaghetti.
“I don’t think I like pasta.”
He might as well have said “I don’t think I want kids” or “I think God is calling me to be a missionary in Iran.” There are certain things one should discuss before saying “I do,” but I never thought to bring up noodles—my absolute favorite food. Is this what we meant in our marriage vows when we promised unconditional, sacrificial love? Continue reading
This is the story of a Sunday meal come full circle.
It begins around the dining room table of my childhood. We are gathered there after a harried morning of getting ready for, attending, and coming home from church. My siblings and I are fighting over who gets the “chicken bones” on this week’s rotisserie bird. (My mom, wise as Solomon, later created a chart tracking whose turn it was for the coveted legs.) The poultry came swaddled in a plastic roasting bag and was always served with a side of Lipton Alfredo noodles. We ate in silence, for it was delicious. Continue reading
