Mom’s Tuesday Buffet

“Mom, the oven is cold!”

I had just walked in the door of her house and checked what was going on in her kitchen.

She didn’t hear me.

“Oh, I put all that stuff in the oven an hour ago and it should be warm now.”

I repeated the words louder. “Mom, the oven is cold and I’m going to turn it on!”

“It must be broken!”

“No, mom, it’s not turned on!” I yelled

I pushed the start button and it fired up. Meanwhile, three dogs run in from the front door and hover around my legs. Pablo, Bella and Bruno sniff around the oven looking for food and signaling my sister Lisa had arrived.

 

It was Tuesday night at mom’s house where the family gathers every week for a good meal and some fellowship. Maria’s daughter, Leslie, had brought us a plate of leftover turkey and gravy and we supplemented that with all the other fixings to make it like another Thanksgiving. I contributed the famous bread stuffing from my mom-in-law’s recipe.

 

I give Lisa a hug and we talk about many things. She looks like me except she has dark brown hair and mine is blonde.

 

“So are you ready for Germany, sis?”

“Yes,”I replied, “but it’s going to be cold.”

It’s been so warm here lately, in the 70’s and 80’s and I knew it was going to be a big adjustment.

She laughed and looked at me like I was crazy. “You are going to miss the warmth! You just wait! I remember when I lived in Washington, DC. It was so cold and this is even colder! I’ll never live where it was cold ever again!”

She made it sound like some sort of disease. I thought of the weather report I had read for the next two weeks of “snow and more snow” in Germany. Not too inviting.

“Well, I’ll be okay, I guess.” I replied sheepishly.

 

She laughed again and shook her head in disgust.

 

I thought about it and felt ashamed but that’s normal. I always feel guilty around her. Was it the Lord’s will for us? We have given up our home, our jobs, our possessions and lastly, the wonderful Florida weather.

 

But then I thought of my son, my daughter-in-law, our four grandchildren and most importantly the little mission church that awaited us.

 

My thoughts were interrupted as dinner was announced as ready. Lisa and I set the table and Bob, Tommy, mom and Maria gather around for the prayer of thanks. Lisa gets on Mom’s case for not wearing her hearing aide; we discover that the specks of white in our water glasses are pieces of frozen butter that somehow were buried into the ice tray and we stuff ourselves on the heavy comfort food fare.

 

But it’s all good. God’s will be done. No matter what my sister says, we will make it. The Lord will see us through. In five more days we leave; in less than a week we will be there.

 

 A brand new life. Then I remembered the words to that old Christmas song:

 

“And may all your Christmases be white…”