{"id":4382,"date":"2021-12-31T21:13:36","date_gmt":"2021-12-31T21:13:36","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/farefwd.com\/?p=4382"},"modified":"2022-02-01T00:27:04","modified_gmt":"2022-02-01T00:27:04","slug":"just-one-meal","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/2021\/12\/31\/just-one-meal\/","title":{"rendered":"Just One Meal"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Just One Meal<\/h2>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
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A serial host reflects on the small burdens and overwhelming joys of opening her home and table to friends.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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By <\/em>Ali Kjergaard<\/em><\/p>

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As a kid I remember feeling jittery and impatient, bouncing my knee, tapping my fingers on the table. How early could I ask to be \u201cexcused\u201d from the dinner table? The adults were all talking, but I wanted to go and get hide-and-seek started, or a board game, or anything besides just sitting and talking. \u201cDo adults really think that\u2019s fun?\u201d I\u2019d think, skittering away from the table. \u201cWhy sit and talk when there are so many other things you could do?\u201d<\/p>

And yet so much preparation went in to those sit-down meals. Place cards were set at each seat, napkin rings cradled cloth napkins, and fancy plates stacked with smaller salad plates were placed at each seat. A centerpiece was carefully arranged, the table runner smoothed out. \u201cA lot of effort for just one meal,\u201d I\u2019d think. But the effect was always beautiful: plaid flannel used as a tablecloth, glass jars filled with cranberries and greenery, topped with floating candles. It was magical. My mom has a way of making a table feel festive so that even sitting down to eat feels like an event. I have yet to find a restaurant experience that can rival our table at Christmas. But as a kid all I saw was a whole lot of effort. Wax would drip from the candles, crumbs and spills spattered the tablecloth, and in a few days the decorative jars would become grimy. \u201cWhy don\u2019t we just use paper napkins?\u201d I\u2019d whine. \u201cWhy are we using these plates, they don\u2019t fit in the dishwasher very well, we\u2019re going to have to hand-wash most of these.\u201d The things my mom saw as beautiful and special I saw as chores. \u201cWe\u2019re making more work for ourselves\u201d\u2014as if the goal of hosting people was to avoid any extra effort or labor. But if hosting were about keeping our lives simple and carefree, we\u2019d never host.<\/p>

Fast forward a few years to my first year living in Washington, D.C. I moved to D.C. without a job, barely knowing a soul, oh, and did I mention I hadn\u2019t spent more than twenty-four hours in the actual city before moving there? It was a stressful time, but the first reassurances I had that I\u2019d be OK were two dinners at which people opened up their homes to me. A friend from college living in a row house on Capitol Hill invited me to dinner with his eleven other roommates, plus additional guests. Everyone there was lively and laughing, warm and comfortable in the city. And though I was very quiet at that meal, I looked around and thought, \u201cThis could be me one day.\u201d Maybe this was why the adults had wanted to linger around a dinner table? You can\u2019t help but want to be around merriment when it\u2019s present.<\/p>

Later, a young couple with their adorable one-year-old had me over for dinner in their walk-up apartment on Capitol Hill, a mere few blocks from an idyllic park. They also had a random assortment of guests, people older than me who seemed at home in the city. It was a delicious meal\u2014far beyond my meager cooking attempts. I marveled at how nice it was to be served from something that wasn\u2019t the same pan in which the food had been cooked. No, at both dinners a place had been set for me, not paper plates, but actual china, silverware set on either side. Both of those dinners were an effort on the part of my host: I didn\u2019t make their lives easier, but they both made my life better. It\u2019s funny now looking back on those early meals and how those people and places are intermingled into my life today. Sitting down to eat with a bunch of strangers offered me reassurance about my own future in an unknown city.<\/p>

A year later I moved into a large, old rowhouse. It was crumbly and creaky, but full of character. When everyone around me was living in tiny English basements, a monstrous hosting space had been thrown into my lap. My cooking skills still left a lot to be desired, but I couldn’t get the idea of filling my home with people gathered around food out of my head. All those memories of my mom hosting were flooding back to me. In one of my favorite children\u2019s books (the Betsy-Tacy<\/em> series) the heroine\u2019s family hosts \u201cSunday night lunches.\u201d Her father uses whatever is on hand to make sandwiches, and anyone could stop by at any time. Sometimes they\u2019d play games, or dance, or sing around the piano. It wasn\u2019t complicated or fancy, but was a chance to gather.<\/p>

Sunday night lunch was an institution at the Ray house. The meal was prepared by Mr. Ray. This was the custom of many years\u2019 standing. In the kitchen on Sunday evenings he was supreme. There was always a fire in the dining room grate for Sunday night lunch. Often the crowd spilled over to pillows. Almost everyone ended there, with a second cup of coffee and cake. Talk flourished until Julia went to the piano. \u2013Heaven to Betsy <\/em><\/p>

It sounded like a dream to me, but that was a time reserved for the 1900s (when the book takes place), not something that could happen in the twenty-first century. But one Sunday, after our evening church service, my friend and I decided to host, just to see what would happen. We went to Trader Joe\u2019s for soup and baguettes. On that chilly fall day, a small group gathered in the living room to eat, laughing and chatting.\u00a0 Taking it all in made my heart soar. Before people had come over there had been stress. I rapidly sliced the baguettes; I tore apart the kitchen looking for the \u201cextra big soup pot.\u201d<\/p>

Every host has moments of panic: \u201cWhat if no one comes? What if there are awkward lulls in the conversation? What if there isn\u2019t enough food?\u201d Hosting forces vulnerability.\u00a0 Opening up your home, your heart, and your hands, means exposing the untidiness of your home (i.e., the mouse traps in many of the corners) and the risk of awkward conversations, or even small numbers of attendees.<\/p>

As it turns out, that first soup night was just the beginning: there would be even more soup and game nights. There would be a Friendsgiving of epic proportions. There was much Christmas joviality, and a murder mystery dinner party. Girlfriends would sleep over, mattresses dragged into the living room and brunch made in pajamas the next day. Surprise parties (with cherry pie or Funfetti cupcakes) would leave confetti and glitter on the floor for years to come. Three years in that house were filled with fun and laughter, and people consuming food. I never could commit to buying the \u201cgather\u201d sign from Home Goods, but maybe we poke too much fun at that word. The more I open up my home, the more I realize how much we all crave gathering. We want to feel warm and safe, full of food and friendship.<\/p>

My grandma is a food-pusher, and it is one of the most endearing things. If you sit at her table eating toast, she\u2019ll ask if you want a donut hole. Or bacon. Or another cup of coffee. Or some fresh fruit. I loved to receive it as a child, this outpouring of food she always offered. But as I\u2019ve gotten older, I\u2019ve come to recognize my own food pushing tendencies. Being with my grandma for Thanksgiving provided an opportunity for two food pushers to go head-to-head.\u00a0 Food pushing is a way to communicate love. I want to provide safety and comfort to those around me.\u00a0 Perhaps that\u2019s why my mom wanted place cards, so people would know that their name was known to her, and that they always had a seat at her table.<\/p><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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That is what we can look forward to: feasting with the Lord of Hosts. But as we are not there yet, we host here on earth, in imperfect spaces with Trader Joe\u2019s soup.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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I don\u2019t live in that massive row house anymore; the new house is a bit smaller, but it has still been a home of hospitality. Our small space was packed for Easter brunch and Oktoberfest, but it has also seen a different coziness: smaller, more intimate groups curled up on couches. Some of my favorite moments in this place have taken place curled up on our big green velvet couch. It started with a book group of women from church. First, we read Dorothy Sayers in the heat of summer, eating key lime tart, with the air conditioning unit cranking loudly.\u00a0 Now, we\u2019re reading Dante by the twinkly lights of a Christmas tree, drinking tea and eating gingerbread, nestled under throw blankets I warm\u2014with caution\u2014on our space heaters. These aren\u2019t the extravagant parties of the old space, but they are no less precious.<\/p>

It\u2019s in my nature, though, to critique my little spaces. I remember the shame of reminding people not to step in the mouse glue traps of the old house. The fact that we had little critter visitors was on display. Hosting in a Capitol Hill row house kept me humble. Even in this new space, with its nicer furniture and cleaner space, I\u2019m keenly aware of the stains on our coffee table and that it has a tendency to wobble. I feel bad if I forget to wipe down the kitchen countertops, but then I remember that when Christ informed Zacchaeus he\u2019d be going to his house he didn\u2019t give him time to run the vacuum \u201creal quick.\u201d<\/p>

We can learn from the way Christ hosted as well as his posture as a guest. He didn\u2019t prepare bottomless mimosas but made a simple breakfast of fish on the shore. But he also received: he received being anointed, he nestled in for a nap when he was on the boat. We too should allow ourselves to receive and be comfortable. Nothing made me so happy as when the girls in our book group knew where the blankets were kept and would help themselves to the pile before settling in on the couch. But if we are hosting, we are also to consider our guest\u2019s comfort. Christ knew the 5,000 were hungry, and he fed them. Of course, what he was saying to them was the most important thing for them to consume\u2014his presence is always enough\u2014but he was human, too, and understood hunger pangs. His disciples were overjoyed at his rising from the dead, and yet he still made them breakfast.<\/p>

I always eagerly anticipate the dinners that await me at home. Now I look forward to helping my mom set the table, because I have a clearer understanding of why we put effort into meals. l rejoice in long nights at the dinner table. And I\u2019ll be thinking of the feasts mentioned in the Bible. Esther is bookended by feasts, and in Revelation we read that we will all dine at the feast of the Lamb. That is what we can look forward to: feasting with the Lord of Hosts. But as we are not there yet, we host here on earth, in imperfect spaces with Trader Joe\u2019s soup. Before a large gathering I read this prayer from Douglas McKelvey\u2019s Every Moment Holy <\/em>over the event, reminding me of what it means to host and to gather:<\/p>

The joy of fellowship, and the welcome and comfort of friends old and new, and the celebration of these blessings of food and drink and conversation and laughter are the true evidences of things eternal, and are the first fruits of that great glad joy that is to come and that will be unending. So let our feast this day be joined to those sure victories secured by Christ, let it be to use now a delight, and a glad foretaste of his eternal kingdom.<\/em><\/p><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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Ali Kjergaard<\/strong>\u00a0currently lives in Washington, D.C. where she works as a staffer on Capitol Hill. You can follow her miscellaneous musings on Twitter @AlisonKjergaard.<\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A serial host reflects on the small burdens and overwhelming joys of opening her home and table to friends. 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