Family Dinner: A Ploughman's Lunch and the Mango Duel

I am a working mommy. At moments, I am more painfully aware of this than others and this week was a bit of an ouch. I labored hard to balance domestics and day job as I traveled back and forth from a conference in a neighboring city. I successfully made four out of five nights to the family dinner table to firmly clutch my toddler's chubby hand in a circle of thanksgiving. Bowed heads. Bobbing cowlicks of curls. Amen. 

It is sometimes hard to coordinate unpredictable schedules, last minute meetings. One delightful strategy that we lean on from time to time is called a "Ploughman's lunch." Of a British origin, the meal is a quick throw together of cold meat, cheese and pickles that a ploughman could have carried to the fields. The traditional version usually also includes crusty bread and chutney brimming with delicious chunks of apricots or cherries. Our version includes finger foods of every variety save the kitchen sink. Pears, peppers, pickles, pretzel sticks... My children are captivated by a forkless dinner and I joke with my sister about our continuous cocktail party menu. 

We nibble at our light fare and discuss the day's adventures. A few years ago, I stumbled across an article that framed the family meal discussion through "sunny" and "cloudy" moments. I love this idea. Where is joy? Where is shadow? I hope to continue this dialogue of success and disappointment with my boys as the sprouts become beanstalks in the sky, climbing higher and higher. To try to recognize the mountaintop and valley moments in our day to day and know that this is all part of the race. 

Dinner would not be complete in our house without a sweet ending. Frequently that takes the form of chocolate. Dark and bittersweet. Sea salt sprinkled. Sometimes it arrives in the burst of blueberries. One recent night, however, dessert was served up with a room full of giggles. Fork against fork, a duel ensued over chunks of a delicious, meaty mango. A flash of marigold here and there, the fruit disappeared quickly between swallows and silliness. 

Yet one more sunny moment.

Easter Joy

We filled their bellies with cinnamon buns and jelly beans before heading off to Easter worship. Brass trumpet blare reached the rafters with "Jesus Christ is Risen Today." A small army assembled for the children's sermon and the front aisle flooded a sea of Easter dresses with skirts like meringue topping. Pastor John smiled as only one can smile on Easter morning. A stark white bolt of cloth draped the hanging cross suspended above. Innocence uplifted. Lifted up. He is risen indeed.

The Family Walk

My eldest son pushes the stroller while my hubby strolls with the family pooch, Marmalade. I bring up the rear snapping pictures. We soak in spring scenes. Trees weeping flowers. A whisper of Eden. 

We often move as a unit. My family that is. When we are tempted to go our separate ways for sake of efficiency (divide and conquer) or competing interests, I cringe and block the path. "Let's do it as a family," my mantra manages to whine. I'm not always successful or disciplined enough depending upon the stopwatch in my head or selfishness in my heart, but I keep trying. 

The family walk almost always happens though. People slow their cars and stare at us in wonder. Some smile. Others turn their heads. Many passersby comment, "Wow, the whole family's out." We are a rarity on the suburban sidewalk. Sadness creeps in and I pick up my pace to come side by side with my mate. My partner walking this life with me. We are quick to name this blessing time and time again - it is called the family walk. 

Seder Meal

Elements of the Meal (L to R): Lamb bone, Salt Water,
Haroseth, Horseradish Root, Parsley, Ceremonial Wine

We delighted in an invitation to attend a "Seder Meal." Our Sunday school teachers are a deeply wise, Christ-filled couple who opened their home to Hebrew custom. 

After agonizing, "What does one wear to a Seder?," we finally arrived sans baby, but towing an energetic, newly turned six-year old. He was well prepared. The conversation in the car ride over was instructive: "If you don't like what the food looks like, just say "thank you" and lay it on the edge of your plate. Don't worry. Mommy might be doing the same thing." 

As the youngest member at the table he had a role to play. Questions to ask. Oh dear. 

They tucked him tight between my husband and me. Four couples eyed our hosts curiously as they spoke their parts as "Father" and "Mother" in the Hagadah or "telling" of the ceremonial meal. 

It was time to hunt. Pieces of bread were hidden within the dining room. Our squirming son all but cheered at the idea of bread sport. This was to signify the removal of yeast in the home representing sin. The ceremony continued, the meal ensued and we were fascinated by the symbolism and savory surprises. (Although we learned quickly that parsley tastes terrible dipped in salt water.) 

A powerful moment filled the room when we recited together the ten plagues, pausing for "Father" to drip a drop of wine from his finger after each affliction. Dark words hung in the air until released by the blood-colored splash. Powerful, indeed. The full power of God.

The close of the meal nears. Our son is asked to open the front door. We are to welcome Elijah to the Passover. He hesitates, but finally pulls the door free peeking out to sidewalks and sunshine. Expectant. Confused. "Elijah?" The adults chuckle quietly. No chariots of fire today. 

I have not recounted all of the details (like my Dad calling in the middle of the meal holding the baby up to the phone who is crying for his pacifier and I need to translate). But, Seder does means 'order' since the meal and service are done in a particular sequence. So....how does it end? A traditional Seder is concluded with a toast declaring, "Next year in Jerusalem." Within our Christian version, we raised our cups of grape juice high proclaiming, "Next year in the New Jerusalem!" 

Thank you dear hosts for a Super Seder. 

Elements of the Meal: 

Lamb The word 'pesach' (passover) applies to the Lamb of sacrifice as well as to the deliverance from Egypt and to the feast itself.

Unleavened bread (Matzoh) called 'bread of affliction' because it recalls the unleavened bread prepared for the hasty flight by night from Egypt. Three large matzohs are broken and consumed during the ceremony. 

Bitter herbs (Moror) is a reminder of the bitterness of slavery and suffering in Egypt. 

Green herbs to be dipped in salt water. Salt water represents tears of sorrow shed during the captivity of the Lord's people. 

Haroseth (or 'haroses') represents the mortar used by Jews in building palaces and pyramids of Egypt during their slavery. (It is a mixture of chopped apples, dates, nuts, cinnamon and wine). 

Wine is dipped from a common bowl. The 'Four Cups' represent: Thanksgiving, Hagadah ('telling'), Blessing and Hope. 

Good Friday

Judas Photo by J. Reedy featuring Fleetwood's Light in the East, copyright 1870

Delivering the Innocent into the darkness.

One Book.

His name is Moses. Yet he told us he was not the one who came down the mountain with stone tablets. The children giggled nervously. Moses smiled a moonbeam across his midnight face.

His story was about a book. One book. (Funny how things unfold because of a book.) Uganda is his home, but he was far from it and visiting the church. The big one, downtown. The one filled with doctors and money, but open arms too. Generous wide arms. The one where sharing the peace lasted so long that "good mornings" became "good afternoons." Moses was here because of one of those peace sharers. 

He asked the fidgeting five-year olds if they had many books. Nods rolled round the pews. He told them that children did not have books where he comes from. Until now. Half the big blue world away, (Moses was kind enough to provide a large map at this moment and a little geography lesson) he worked with a family from this church and that one book grew to a library of 2,045. He told us when the shipment arrived the boys and girls peeked out the windows. Perched at the doorways. The teachers read book after book until their voices finally surrendered.

The day before our Moses encounter, my family stumbled upon a used book sale. My tykes of two and five were tossing books into the cart with toddler abandon. Absorbed in my own titles, I was surprised at the check-out counter when I pulled out such classics as I Can Smell Christmas and Camels: Ships of the Desert. They grinned zigzag smiles and I caved to the call of indulgence.

I have taken the books spilling off our shelves for granted these years long and I have seen them through new eyes. Those of a hungry caterpillar. Thank you, Moses. We will send you some soon.