Austin Toaf Rica

Archive for December, 2010

Several years ago, I took my two younger daughters to a beachfront bed-and-breakfast. Leyah was leaving for college within days and didn’t want to go; I insisted—for my sake. We walked on a rain-soaked beach and spent the evening reading by a little fire while listening to the surf break just yards away. Next morning, breakfast was served at tables set for six. What happened at ours is one of those things that can’t be planned or purchased. Leyah, Lissa, and I ended up at a table with a photojournalist and his wife, a writer, from the East Coast. Their friend, the owner of the B&B, a stunning dynamo of a woman, joined us at the table.
I wondered if the girls and I were going to feel isolated from the conversation. Instead, we were drawn into it. Our fellow diners were as fascinated with our family’s trio as we were by their bright philosophical ideas and tales of travels afar. An animated, profound dialogue took place, in which my daughters were included and engaged. It was a turnabout to the experience of Abraham and Sarah, who entertained strangers at Mamre. Here we were at an Oregon beach B&B, where strangers entertained us—a stained-glass story if ever there was one. You never know when table d’hôte will happen, angels and all, but the possibilities exist wherever bread is broken.
When my two-year-old granddaughter eats lasagna, she carefully separates the tiny broccoli florets and strips of red pepper from pieces of pasta. Tomato sauce covers both hands, squishes between outstretched fingers, and smears across her cheeks. Tendrils of her curly hair become caked with bits of vegetables and cheese.
In this scene I see the Eucharist.
Dining is art.
I see light filtered through color as the essence of our lives, never more than around our dining tables.
When we serve meals, we are creating stories meant for stained
glass. What will yours communicate?