Centered Around Food

 There are certain “we always” traditions that shape families. When we first got married in 2009, there was an unspoken season of discovering what our own family culture would be. One thing became clear early on.  Our family, even when it was just the two of us, would be centered around food.

I’ll never forget my first meal with the Mullens. After dating about a month, Randy’s dad invited me over for dinner which I presume was his way to get to know the girl his son was seeing. He made spaghetti in the crock pot, a salad, and garlic bread on the side.  We sat at a simple, yet beautifully set table, and we ate together.

A few months later, I joined the Mullens on vacation to Yosemite. That trip revealed the deep roots of their tradition around meals. All the Mullens can cook and set a beautiful table. Grandma Norma treated every breakfast, lunch, and dinner as an act of love and service to her family.  Each  meal was thoughtfully planned.  She set a gorgeous table and prepared the most delicious food. Sitting down to a meal with the Mullens felt like receiving a warm hug.

A few months later, Randy experienced his first Christmas Eve with my family. Everyone was welcome. Tables were pushed together and lined with food each family had brought, forming the biggest buffet.  At the center was a lechon, a whole roasted pig with an apple in its mouth.  My extended family knew how to celebrate.  With music, games, and dancing, the entire space radiated joy.

Centering celebration and gathering around food isn’t a human idea, it’s divine. From God’s provision of manna and the first Shabbat in Exodus 16 to Jesus preparing a meal for His disciples in John 21:1–14, food has always been more than nourishment.  It’s been a means of remembrance and a time of fellowship with one another and with God. Through the act of eating together, God invites us: all who are hungry, all who are thirsty, to taste and see that He is good.

Our first Thanksgiving as a married couple became our “we always” and the beginning of our own traditions, blending two cultures into one. We had just moved to Mississippi, our first duty station, and at the ripe young age of twenty three years old, we couldn’t afford flights home. So we had a feast of our own. I roasted my first turkey and made a humble snack board to nibble on while Randy watched the football game. And we enjoyed a beautiful meal at a simply set table.  It was perfect. 

That table has become the center of our home. It’s the altar where we worship. It’s the well where we receive nourishment for our bodies and soul. In our home, we always come to the table. And we always celebrate.