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.
