I enjoy food. I’m sure many of you know that simply by the blog posts and pictures I post. Food is a part of who I am, and has been for generations. I’m not obsessed with it, but I certainly do come from a people who absolutely appreciate it. There’s just something about the tastes and textures, the memories it provides, the excitement of trying new places and expanding my palate, the ability to make creative cuisine out of ordinary or unusual things, and the delight in discount meals, family feasts or “chat and chews” with my girls. There’s also something incomparably comforting about the joy food brings in times of celebration and sadness. I, as I’ve said before, enjoy food.
I woke up thinking about food recently. Surprised? Oddly enough, I wasn’t thinking about food in the normal sense in which I do. I was thinking about food as it relates to relationships and life. I woke thinking about a plate of food, and how, in as much as I enjoy food, if my plate is too full (and especially if that food is strewn all over the plate) that leaves no room for more, better, fresher or new. Ladies and gentlemen, sometimes it’s the right time to clear the plate to make room for more.
The same is so with relationships. How can we expect something more, better, new or especially made for us to come when our plate is already packed with scraps and leftovers? Scraps and leftovers you say? Yes, scraps and leftovers? Scraps and leftovers are those people, attitudes or pains that once were or should have never been but still remain. We would never ask the chef at a five-star restaurant to bring us a medium-plus, 20 ounce Porterhouse steak seared with perfect grill marks and a dollop of rosemary butter strategically placed on the top, then take that delicious cut of protein and plop it atop the leftover onions and olives from the salad we finished, the seeds and rinds from the lemons which flavored our water, the heads and shells from the prawns we devoured, the napkin with which we wiped our lips (and nose) and the grinds from the roasted Colombian coffee which was piping hot and freshly brewed to our liking.
Asking God to send us the right person when we’re clinging to people we know we have no God-ordained future with is the same as that Porterhouse being buried beneath all of that garbage. The same is so if we are holding on to what “Johnny did in 5th grade, what Michael did in 12th grade, how Justin hurt us at 25 and what our ex-husband did at 31”. The same is absolutely so if we are dating a few people (nibbling off of a few plates at time) hoping they equate to our desires from one simply because we don’t want to be alone. The same is certainly so if we’re allowing the garbage which came from someone else’s plate to clutter our own (women dating married men and men dating married women…you catch my drift?) And the same is definitely so if we don’t wrap our minds around the fact that we deserve Porterhouse, sans the garbage.
Ladies and gentleman, we deserve the best. That’s all to it. We can’t expect to have the best if we don’t do what’s necessary to make room for it in our minds, our lives, our attitudes and our actions. Go ahead. Clear the plate.