"I am large. I contain multitudes." - Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

God Made Spaghetti

You know, I eat alone a lot. Over and above getting used to it, I'd like to think the practice has made me a better cook when I eat at home. And when I am out, eating alone has made me more independent, a woman able to hold her own whether she eats alone or in the presence of company.

Eating alone has taught me not to care about what society thinks of a solitary woman who enters a restaurant and orders a dish she has been craving for. Why should it matter that it was a fine dining restaurant? A little upscale perhaps. Where does it say anyway that when eating alone, one should relegate herself to cheap food at a food court?

But even though I had gotten used to eating alone, most of the time, I don't necessarily prefer it.

This poem by Cynthia Rylant brought home to me once again that no one understands me like God understands me. He knows - in a deep, personal, intimate way - how I feel. Even about eating alone. Even that, He gets it.

Share a meal with me, Lord. You free tonight? Dinner at my place. See you there.


God Made Spaghetti

And He didn't have a ceiling
so He tried to make it stick
to Jupiter
but that just
vaporized the noodle
so God decided to
HAVE FAITH it was cooked
al dente.
He filled up a big bowl
and got Himself a
piece of sourdough
and a copy of
The New Yorker
and God
had supper.
And He would actually
have liked somebody
to talk to
(He didn't like eating alone),
but most people
think God
lives on air
(Apparently they've not noticed
all the food He's created),
so nobody ever
invites him over
unless it's Communion
and that's always
such a letdown.
God's gotten used
to one plate at the table.
He lights a candle
anyway.


(Photo credit: aloalo*)

2 comments:

Babs said...

thanks for this! :) laveeet!

Colleen said...
This comment has been removed by the author.

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