A casserole dish

In the Old Testament, Israel lives surrounded by symbolism: a way for the material world to reflect a spiritual or emotional reality. Where I live today trends away from symbolism with an easy forgetfulness of unseen truths. Sometimes the church is infused with symbolism in a reactionary response to the world, inventing realities by imposing spiritual meaning everywhere. I fall in the middle. I gravitate toward symbolism and feel half foolish for it.

Today, I’m taking a meal to a new mother. I do this often, partly because our church has a rich history of procreation :) and partly because I like to cook. Yesterday, a new mother returned my casserole dish, empty from the meal I took her last week. It came back just in the nick-of-time for me to fill it with a new meal for another new mom.

The dish is my symbol. It represents giving and supporting and being thankful for mothers. One semester in college, a dear friend left for break and came back with a wife. We were estactic for him. She hosted hours of college parties in their little apartment, feeding us food while we played games. I used to think she was quiet and reserved but later discovered it was only because she didn’t know any of us. She taught me cooking skills (that I still utilize) and spontaneously gave me her casserole dish one day.

She had their first child shortly before graduation. We kept up through letters and then facebook. Mothering was her favorite thing and she reached out to mothers everywhere. When I finally saw her again six years later, she was pregnant with their fourth child and laying in a hospital bed. A shocking diagnosis of lung cancer was just given and they were about to do surgery. Two days later, her baby girl was delivered prematurely by emergency c-section. I begged God on behalf of her children that He would not leave them motherless, but my friend died just four days after I saw her. For the next several months, I held Megan in the NICU almost every day and cried that she didn’t have a mother.

Eventually, God did answered my prayer and gave those four children a new mother. One who is so utterly perfect for them; one who my friend in heaven would’ve shouted joy over. And while they are left with a mother, I am left with memories and letters and a casserole dish.

So I fill it now, with food for mothers. And while they may have no idea the dish has just as much thought behind it as the meal, I am reminded of and acknowledge an emotional and spiritual reality: that all life, young or old, is a precious, precious gift.