What Will I Bring?

In this season of celebration, opportunities to get together with friends and family abound.  While I’m not one to follow etiquette rules closely, I do like to bring something when I attend a party.  As a person with Celiac disease, it’s all the more helpful if I have a dish with ingredients that are safe for me to eat.  In the past, I’ve just brought a small lunch sack for myself.  Recently though, I’ve been challenged by the idea that I don’t need to apologize for having different needs.  I should bring enough to share and be proud of my alternative offerings. 

In anticipation of upcoming gatherings, I researched some gluten free, vegan recipes.  I settled on a sweet potato and chickpea hash with toasted cinnamon pecans.  I gave the recipe a trial run at our church potluck on Sunday and there were no leftovers.  Confidence boosted, I made a second batch for a meal with my husband’s family.  Midway through the meal, when I went to the kitchen to refill my water glass, I peeked over at my dish.  A neat little one-portion corner had been scooped out.  My portion.   

My heart sank.  I chided myself for making too much.  Then, I regretted even bringing a gluten free dish in the first place.  Next year, I’d go back to just eating the side salad.  Poo on the holidays.  No one wants anything new or different. 

Back at the table, my husband’s aunt asked if I was enjoying my meal.  I really was.  The food I’d made was delicious with ingredients my body needs.  I’d gotten so wrapped up in others liking my dish that I almost missed valuing it myself. 

The next morning, my husband and I met up with relatives on my side of the family.   My two cousins introduced me to their girlfriends.  Within minutes of talking with them, I was flooded with self doubt.  One had a PhD and her kids easily conversed in two languages. Their third language was a little shaky, so at least they weren’t totally perfect.  The other girlfriend had a fascinating humanitarian job.   I sat there in my favorite t-shirt and scarf, jeans crusted with baby spit up.  I wanted to tell them how interesting I used to be.  I wanted them to like me.

I was looking at that untouched gluten free sweet potato dish all over again; offering something uniquely me, and hoping that others would enjoy it too. 

As we drove home, I told my husband about my jumble of feelings; how I wished I wasn’t so plain. 

“But that’s your favorite scarf,” he said, “You love that outfit.”

That’s true.  I do. 

In this season of celebrating, I want to bring something – my dish, my gifts, myself – which others will love.  They may or may not, and that’s okay.  I like what I brought, I like who I am, and I offer it with joy.

Later that night we were back with my husband’s family, eating leftovers together.   I sipped some apple cider and pretended to care about the football game everyone was watching. 

“Oh yeah.  Good stuff!” I heard Uncle Pat comment.

“Uh huh.”

I didn’t really pay attention.   I thought he was talking about the game.  But when I looked, he was scooping a big helping of food onto his plate.  Sweet potatoes and chickpeas with toasted cinnamon pecans, actually.

“Do you like it?” I asked, “It’s gluten free.”

“I don’t know about gluten free stuff, but I know what tastes good.”

Sometimes, when you’re feeling like what you bring isn’t special enough, it just takes a different perspective to lift your spirits.  Uncle Pat went home later with the remaining casserole in a big Ziploc bag.  I went home with restored confidence.

photo credit