Tamara and I have shared time together every Tuesday for almost four years now, usually in her kitchen. Many weeks I’ve spent more hours in this kitchen than my own, what with potlucks, family missio community gatherings, meetings and huddles. Often kids are running underfoot, hiding under the table during the seeking pursuit of their peers. Astoundingly, most of the children don’t fit under the table anymore like they did at the first gatherings.
The toy collection in the family room hasn’t improved much over the years, a few Duplos, Lincoln Logs, the marble track and a truck. However, you can’t beat the Wii in the Bonus Room upstairs. The kids seemingly disappeared from the planet when the Wii showed up.
I can find just about anything in this kitchen. There’s the Advil gel caps on the top far left that I’ve needed more than a few times, but more often from this cabinet my friend with concern is pushing Air-Borne or Industrial Strength Vitamins too enormous to swallow. The big bowls are underneath. I’m especially fond of the light blue one.
Plastic bags and foil in the drawers on the sides of the sink, with the dish clothes in the second one down. The silverware is kept in the drawer farthest away from the dishwasher. Who does that? You need to know this though because there are no locatable tongs in this house. If you bring a salad you need to find a large fork and spoon in the silverware drawer.
The tea has moved around and I still can’t get used finding it in the fancy wooden tea box in the butler’s pantry. I know where she keeps her personal stash of green tea from CostCo in a drawer. The red canister on the counter holds the decaf.
The controls on the double oven are still a mystery to me, but the AirBake cookie sheet in the cupboard above them was invented by her high school boyfriend. Imagine, she passed up a cookie sheet fortune for true love.
The olive oil across from the stove has served as anointing oil in a pinch more than once when blessing someone for a new endeavor or asking the Lord for healing. The refrigerator next to it is plenty full for someone who is usually “just juicing” or fasting. The contents crowded and scary at times, but it also holds one of the largest collections of condiments on the eastside. Not to be outdone by the monster sized bottles of salad dressing, ketchup and relish in the garage refrigerator, arriving there in a box or bag after a service in the park or a meal served downtown. I’ve learned it is a good idea to check the dates.
She says her plants are her friends. They’ve grown taller, crowding against the kitchen ceiling. A section of one of them is in my own dining room now, languishing due to lack of a regular watering schedule and conversation.
This kitchen is the place of pre-gathering prayer, hand holding, tears and laughter, book exchanging, children trying to be first in line for dinner, sweet homemade wine, birthday celebrations and Christmas tradition, rice dinners on the floor, technology crises (many!) and tables packed together for a Seder meal. I’ve left here usually elated, inspired and filled. On occasion I’ve wandered out frustrated, mad, and, yes, nasty. I’ve even slammed the front door and then been thankful to know that I would be welcome to come back and push it open; having to push hard because it sticks. Fortunately it is always unlocked.
I am not alone in growing to love this kitchen. It is a destination of welcome and blessing. My parents have been here, as well as my classmates from around the world. I’ve made new friends and spiritual discoveries in this open room. I’m now forced to pack up the memories of the walls painted like bricks, the plants on the sink window ledge, the tiny green square tea coasters by the stove and the microwave that cooks twice as fast as mine at home.
God who gives all good gifts, like kitchens, friends who are like family and rich communitas be praised for all we’ve been granted; times too precious to slip away without recollection for eternity.
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