'Tis a Gift to Be Simple

I have a dear friend who is a lot like Mary Poppins.  While she doesn't travel by umbrella or carry a carpet bag, she is practically perfect in every way.  She's smart, she's pretty, she's funny, she dresses well.  She is kind and thoughtful.  She's a genius in the kitchen.  And she can host like nobody's business.

I know, you kind of want to hate her, right?

But not so fast.  The most perfect thing about this friend of mine is that she is brimming over with grace and humility.  When she invites you into her home, the table will be set beautifully and the meal will make you want to cry it's so good.  If done in a less gracious way, this would be awfully intimidating.  Under other circumstances, I may be tempted to feel inadequate - Why don't I ever cook like this?  I couldn't decorate a table like this if my life depended on it - but since everything is done with such grace, something very different happens.  I don't feel inadequate, or envious, or intimidated.

I feel relaxed.

I wish I knew Greek, because I'm certain there is a word in Greek that would better communicate the full meaning behind this word.  Instead, I'll attempt to describe it using a whole bunch of words.  I feel any tension fading away within moments of sitting down.  I feel less tired, younger, more beautiful.  I feel welcomed like family, free to be myself completely - and the very best version of myself.  I feel joy welling up inside of me, showing up to surprise me like a long-lost friend who's come for a visit.  Time slows down, problems are put into perspective.  It is fertile soil for friendship.  It is holy ground.  It is home.

Now that I think about it, it's Sabbath.  And it's not the food, though that's delicious, and it's not the ambiance, though that's lovely as well - it's the spirit in which the table has been set, in which the food is served, in which we as guests are made to feel like we are in our own home.  It is remarkable.

My friend recently had a baby, and for the time being, she has had to return to work.  So, in addition to seeking the new balance that is required any time a new baby joins a family - as this beautiful new life bursts forth and demands every ounce of love and energy that his parents can pour out - she has had the additional demand of balancing new motherhood with her work life.  Any new mother knows that there is no work-life balance at this point.  There is your baby, and there is you - more tired than you've ever been, filled with a new kind of love that you've never known, brimming with hope for all that this little life will hold, desperate to spend every possible minute staring at this little miracle, lest you miss anything.  Work is work, but you leave your heart at home with your baby.  It's a difficult transition to be sure.

And it's even difficult for Mary Poppins.  We were recently invited for dinner at the home of these dear friends.  She was coming off of a day of work and had let me know that by dinner she meant she'd be picking up a pizza and some beer.  As we sat down with the cardboard pizza box as our centerpiece and shared a meal together, I was struck by a few things.

First, it doesn't matter what we're eating when we're with these friends.  The pizza happened to be delicious, but that wasn't the point.  We weren't just sipping beer, we were drinking in each other's company after a long week of work and parenthood.

It also occurred to me that my friend - who's the ultimate gourmet cook and who seldom even serves ice cream that she hasn't made herself - had not been too proud to serve us pizza straight out of the box and store-bought ice cream sandwiches for dessert.  My initial thought was that she had relinquished her pride to serve us a meal she didn't make herself.

But then it hit me -  it's never been about pride for my friend.

If it was about pride, it wouldn't feel so much like Sabbath.  It's not just that she's a gifted cook, it's that she's a gifted hostess in the best possible way.  She makes every meal feel special whether she's slaved over the stove for hours or swung by the neighborhood pizzeria on her way home from work.

And this act of simplicity was a true gift to me.

I love to host people in my home.  I love to cook.  I love to sit down to our table with friends over a bottle of wine and settle in for good conversation.  At this point in my life - with two young children - things just aren't as relaxed in real life as they are in the fairy tale in my head.  My house rarely looks perfect (or even like a land mine didn't just go off!); I don't always have time to prepare the gourmet meals I'd like to serve or set the table for company to make things feel special.  Sometimes even when I accomplish those things, I'm so frantic from getting them done that I find I've ignored my children and sent myself into a frenzy getting ready for our guests to arrive, trying to get everything just so.  By the time the doorbell rings, my stomach is in knots, I'm a nervous wreck, and more likely than not, I've snapped at my husband.  So how then can I expect to unwind with friends in such a state?  I confess that I've hosted many a dinner party in a state of mind that does not bring Sabbath to anyone at our table.

I'm going to take a lesson from my friend on this one.  When I don't have time to make something gourmet, I'm going to stop and realize that I'm not out to impress anyone, I'm out to share life with people over a meal.  And the sharing of life and the giving of Sabbath rest is a lot more likely to happen when grace and humility are allowed to set the table.

Thank you, sweet friend, for teaching me a lesson in grace and humility.  For inviting us to your Sabbath table time and again.  And thank you for the reminder that it truly is a gift to be simple.

Why 'Hugs and Breakfast?'

So I used to have a blog.  Years ago (pre-kids and while teaching and getting my master's), I began a blog entitled "Amusing Myself."  At first I posted fairly regularly, by which I mean at least once a month-ish.  The idea was that I would write about things I found amusing, not really caring whether or not anyone else found them to be remotely entertaining.  After I had kids, the tone seemed to change a bit as I pondered the grander things in life.  [Let's be honest - it's not hard to ponder something grander than what order to eat my Skittles in or what go-go-Gadget devices I wish I had at my disposal - both subjects of previous posts.]  After a rather long and unintentional hiatus from blogging, I felt inspired to write something and returned to log in to my account.  It was at that point that I realized what an idiot I am when it comes to technology (or, at least, what an idiot I was in 2007).  Working for a school district at the time, I unwittingly used my work e-mail address as the address linked to my blog.  I know, what was I thinking? Now that I no longer work for the district, I no longer have access to that e-mail address, and thus can no longer post on Amusing Myself.  RIP, old blog.  Hello, new blog!

There was only one problem.

I needed a new blog address.  Apparently I'm not as original as I would like to think.  For the first blog, I immediately thought of the title and it was available - a no-brainer.  This time around, I've either become less creative or everyone and their grandmother has decided to start blogging, because I've had quite the time coming up with a blog address that didn't already exist.

Attempt #1: Heart On My Sleeve.  No surprise here that this was unavailable.  I thought of that one on a day when I was all swept up in the grandeur of motherhood and thinking about how true it really is that being a mother is like walking around with your heart outside of your body.  Then I thought about what an open book I am (some might say I'm an 'over-sharer,' but hey, that's the way I've always been and there's no going back now) and thought the title could serve a dual purpose: a blog about motherhood from my perspective and a statement about how I tend to live my life.  But again, unoriginal, and therefore, taken.

Attempt #2: Rest in Peace.  I know what you're thinking and, no, this was not to be a blog devoted to remembering those I've lost or anything depressing like that.  On a recent trip to San Francisco, Krister and I had the opportunity to walk the labyrinth at the Grace Cathedral.  The sun was setting outside the cathedral walls, and as the stain glass windows slowly lost their colors we stood in line with a collection of strangers and listened to the music created by the Tibetan bowls being played by a man who sat on the floor next to the labyrinth.  The lowest notes rung out through the air and reverberated within our chests.  We removed our shoes and felt the cool of the stone floor beneath our feet as we walked the path in silence.  It was all very Buddhist feeling (I actually know next to nothing about Buddhism, but it felt like what I picture that would feel like) and sensory.  It was only my second time to walk a labyrinth, and I hope it's not my last.  I won't be an over-sharer here and divulge every thought I had while walking the labyrinth, but I did have a thought that led to this idea for a blog title.  As I meditated on peace during part of the walk, I was struck by our use of the phrase "rest in peace" for those who have died.  It occurred to me that I don't want to wait until I'm dead to rest in peace!  I want peace and rest and resting in peace to be a part of the rhythm of my daily life.  I later became excited as I thought about creating a blog devoted to Sabbath practices, which have been on the brain lately, and peace in all senses of the word.  See?  I told you I was feeling very Buddhist that day.  But alas, that title has been taken as well.  On multiple blogging sites.  While I haven't given up on Sabbath or peace as a result, I was forced to hold off on my musings until I could find a blog address of my very own.

Third time's the charm!  On my third attempt, I found a blog address that hadn't been taken.  Of course it hadn't been taken, you may be thinking.  (At least that's what my husband said when I excitedly reported the news to him.)  So why 'Hugs and Breakfast,' apart from the fact that it was available?  Here is the riveting tale of how I arrived at this title.

A few mornings ago I stood at the kitchen sink before sunrise trying to get breakfast ready for my two young daughters.  My youngest, Parker, is eighteen months old and was beside herself that I couldn't hold her and make her breakfast at the same time.  (I've actually done that on several occasions, but as every mother knows, not the most efficient way to get things done.)  After I had fed the girls and washed the berry jelly off of Parker's hands and face, I held her for a few moments in the kitchen for an after-breakfast snuggle.  Marin (my three-year-old) walked up and remarked on the fact that her sister was no longer crying.  "Yes," I responded, "I guess all she needed was some hugs and breakfast."  Then I thought, "Isn't that all any of us really need?"  As I had a little moment picturing how great the world would be if everyone had enough hugs and breakfast (recipe for world peace?), Marin paced the kitchen saying, "Hmmm.  I like that - hugs and breakfast.  Hugs and breakfast."

And so a new blog title was born.  Here's to hoping everyone out there gets plenty of both tomorrow morning.