Kitchen talks

It takes intentionality.

But each time it proves to be worthwhile. God shows up, laughter resides and feelings are exchanged.

Kitchen talks – My host mom, host dad and me. Half in English, half in Chinese. Munching on whatever fruit is in season or sold at the market today. Spitting sunflower seeds on the floor in true Chinese fashion.

We share what we have to offer – our questions, our frustrations, our learnings, our culture.

And this is communion.

Kitchen talks – Me and 阿姨 making dumplings or stir-frying vegetables. She’s willing to teach me, and I’m willing to learn.

And as I ask her questions, I sense her pride. She wasn’t a strong student in a society where education defines you, but she can cook. Dumplings, 烧卖, 红烧肉, soup, vegetables. You name it, she’ll make it.

As she switches her shoes at the door, she says, “我先走了，小杨，再见 (I'm leaving now, goodbye Little Yang).” I think we shared communion today, I think just maybe.

Kitchen talks – this is the place where meals are eaten. Where chopsticks are used to devour the food covered in oil, but oh so delicious. Where the family recites ancient Chinese poetry, as I wrestle with my own cultural history education in America.

Oops, I wasn’t paying attention and the food just missed my plate.

That’s okay, there is grace. There is grace at the table.

Here at this kitchen table we meet.

“Tomorrow, let’s keep talking,” my host mom says. And with that, we dim the lights above the kitchen table, their faint rays holding promise of the communion we will share yet again tomorrow.

I think I’ll miss these kitchen talks.