How we cook and eat is one of the most beautiful ways to express ourselves, our family traditions, and our cultures, and there’s an intimacy that develops when we eat with others.

Phil Rosenthal, creator of Everybody Loves Raymond and star of Somebody Feed Phil said, “You know you sit down and you eat with people you just met, and by the time you’re done eating, you’re a little bit closer. That’s the idea, right?”

I think that’s so true–and so powerful. Eating together can be a catalyst for understanding, community building, and even healing.

It’s been hard over the last year to eat with others the way we used to in the pre-pandemic days, but there are still ways to savor and celebrate the beauty of food and each other. My kids and I have been reading a variety of children’s books all about food, family, and culture, and it’s opened their eyes–and my own–to a culinary world much bigger than our own kitchen table.

My mom’s body laid flat on the hospital-style bed in her bedroom. My dad, sister, and I removed her soiled clothes and put clean ones onto her lifeless body. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Her frail frame felt unexpectedly heavy—heavy in my arms, heavy in my soul. Then we waited for her body to be picked up.

Eventually, two men arrived. But they came earlier than we had anticipated, so we asked for more time. Don’t take her. Not yet. We’re not ready.

They kindly came back a few hours later, wrapped her in a black bag and carried my mom’s body out the front door. Just like that, gone. We stood in the entryway for who knows how long hugging, sobbing, clinging onto each other.

I admit it. I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, as the saying goes.

I’m sitting here writing at the eleventh hour when I have multiple deadlines looming over me. I owe another friend some notes for a piece she’s helping me with, and I told her I’d get those to her days ago. Okay, a week ago. It’s still not done, and the list of emails I have yet to respond to grows as quickly as the laundry pile in the corner of my bedroom.

I don’t tell you this because I have some notion that busyness is a badge of honor. I’ve worn myself out far too many times to want to wear that badge anyway. Besides, if you look at my actual calendar, we’re not really that busy. We’re still living a contained life thanks to COVID precautions, and our days mostly consist of LEGOs and riding bikes in the front yard.

But I want the work I do and the way I spend my days to feel productive–and motherhood doesn’t always make that easy. I (kind of) like the feeling of having a deadline looming over me because I know it means something will eventually get done. A box will get checked off. I’ll finally sense accomplishment.

Last year around this time, the Coffee + Crumbs team brainstormed how we’d “pivot” our annual Mother’s Day Brunch. We ended up taking the brunch where everything else went: online. We laughed, cried, sat in front of our screens eating breakfast for one and drinking solo mugs of coffee, brunching via Zoom.

It was not what we originally planned, but we are moms. We know how to adapt. We know how to change a diaper in the back of the minivan with only Chick-Fil-A napkins found in the car door to use as wipes. We know how to pull out leftovers from the fridge and pantry, cut them into small bites and proudly proclaim, “It’s snack dinner tonight!” We know how to convince our hurting preschooler that his doctor visit is going to be a fun date with mom (or at least it will end with donuts).

I’ve never been great at keeping plants alive. Every year, I eagerly purchase tomatoes and cucumbers, lettuce and green beans. I block off time on a weekend to put them in the ground, optimistic this will be the year I finally make salads and sauces, sides and stews with what I grew in my own backyard. Last year, the tomatoes withered by July and a rabbit ate the entire lettuce plant within 24 hours. We got a few green beans and a cucumber—a successful crop, I suppose, if you compare it to previous summers. But there are only so many side dishes you can make when you harvest two or three green beans at a time.

Almost every morning, he brings me coffee.

He sets the cup on my nightstand, and I grunt and roll over. I’ve never been one to start my day jumping out of bed with a smile. A few minutes later he squeezes my shoulder before walking downstairs, offering a gentle reminder that my beloved drink is getting cold.

Even on the rare day when I wake up before everyone else, I know the coffee will be ready. The night before, he sets the pot to brew first thing in the morning. He puts my favorite mug next to it—the oversized one that will hold enough caffeine to keep me fueled for at least a few hours.

At my childhood home, we had a massive oak tree that towered over almost the entire yard. It housed squirrels and birds, provided shade as we played in the grass, and supported a tire swing we enjoyed for hours on end.

But I never noticed the tiny movements that made its branches stretch over the lawn or its roots dig deep into the earth. I never saw it grow, yet somehow that tree changed from a seed to a towering oak.

Apparently tiny movements add up.

I have a stack of books on my desk…and the side table in my office…and my nightstand…and another stack on the floor. I’m a bit unrealistic about the time I actually have to read in a day, but I still can’t help surrounding myself with good books. Maybe you can relate.

So, I thought I’d share a few books that are on my shelf (or soon will be). Some of these have been out for a while, some are newer. But I think all of them will be worth reading, and I can’t wait to dive in.

I’ve been feeling almost paralyzed lately, not sure what to do or write, uncertain how to handle all that’s going on in the world. As I’d sit there unable to wade through everything, the dishes piled up, my kids fought, and my very real, ordinary life continued to go on–whether I was ready or not.

This morning, I sat down with a cup of coffee and my journal. Pen in hand, I started to unravel the threads in my heart and mind. I started to put it on the page and pray through it all.

And I started to reset.

There are days–even weeks, months, or years–when we need to set some of our normal life aside to handle whatever new thing life has thrown at us. Then, there are days when we need to put our pen to paper, feet to the floor, hands to work…and get back at it.

“This is the best day ever!”

My kids have taken to shouting that hyperbolic statement nearly any time they do something they enjoy. Eating ice cream, riding bikes, going to a friend’s house—these all apparently deserve the title of “best day ever.”

The pendulum swings just as far in the other direction, of course. There are about a hundred activities that can cause them to declare any given day the worst ever—eating cooked carrots, having to clean their rooms, not being allowed to play with the hose at 8am when it’s 50 degrees outside, wearing shoes that fit. Who knew that last one could so easily result in a three-year-old naming an otherwise normal Thursday “the worst day ever.”

Throughout his whole letter, James has been instructing his readers to live out their faith—and he’s been especially concerned with how they do that in suffering. Look back to the very first verse of this book. James writes to Jewish believers scattered around the world (“the twelve tribes in the Dispersion”). They’re dealing with persecution and long to one day experience the restoration God promised. But in the meantime, first century life has been hard, especially as followers of Christ.

They’re also navigating divisions within the Church, divisions between Jew and Gentile, rich and poor, honored and lowly. In the middle of all of this, James calls them to a life that reflects the kingdom and the character of God. We’ve seen the practical exhortations he’s given like avoiding partiality, watching their speech, submitting desires to God, and not putting their trust in plans or possessions. Then, we reach the end of his letter, which offers a fitting conclusion to all he’s instructed God’s people to do thus far: 1) pray and 2) help one another live out the truth.

A few days ago on my Instagram Stories, I shared someone’s post that I had come across about the Day of the Dead. I was attempting to learn and appreciate more about this Mexican holiday, but it turns out, I didn’t take the time to get all the information. The post I shared (which I’ve since taken down) made this holiday seem light-hearted, harmless, and joyful–and to be honest, I failed to do my research. My friend, Cynthia, kindly responded to me with additional information, showing me that there was more to the story.

We moved our conversation to email, and Cynthia sent me facts as well as her stories and opinions about the Day of the Dead. I realized how little I knew–and how easy it can be to believe things are harmless, when in reality, we are fighting a very real spiritual battle.

Cynthia’s words were so helpful and eye-opening, and I asked her if I could share them with you here. In the following post, she offers personal experiences, facts about the Day of the Dead, her own opinions, and then a closing story to help us to recognize the spiritual forces of evil trying to take us down. But, as she writes below, “Of course, Jesus wins. His light breaks through the darkness.”