Of God and Chicken Tortilla Soup--A Friday story

"See you this afternoon," (quick kiss)
"Bye, Dewey. Take care of your Dad today." (pat on head)

And I'm out the door.  It's Friday of a long week.  I'm usually the biggest fan of Friday that you'll ever meet.  Successfully made it through the work week.  All the possibilities of a weekend ahead of me.  But not this week. Wednesday felt like Friday. Thursday, at an off-site seminar, it felt like Friday.  So when Friday arrived, my body said, "PLEASE--pretend it's Saturday and stay in bed."

But I didn't.  I got up.  Ambled into the kitchen to make coffee, open the doggy door, and settle into my morning prayer and study time.  In all honesty, I had to move through a few Flow puzzles on my ipad and a few ounces of strong coffee before I could commit to Bible reading and journaling. Fortunately for me, Friday at my workplace is jeans-friendly.  Good thing, because I was heading in with little or no forethought for the day.

My commute time is about 25 minutes, and I spend every minute of that time checking in with my mother.  Our morning calls take place while I drive (hands free phone, of course) and she finishes dressing and making her lunch for the day. Today's conversation, mostly about her recent knee surgery and physical therapy, lasted until I was inside my office door.

So I arrived, signed in, and took stock.  So many spreadsheets.  So many schedules.  So I narrowed my task list to two rather large chunks and jumped in.  Several phone calls, emails, and visitors intercepted my flow, but somehow, I was finished by 1:00.

And at 1:00 I realized two things.  I need to walk.  A lot.  And I was hungry.  (Reference my groggy morning start.)

So I'm off to deliver some materials that I really could have put into mailboxes.  And I hear my name, turn, and see MKR.  "Come by my room and have some chicken tortilla soup.  And some orange cake." 

I play it cool.  "Sounds great.  What's the occasion?" (There really wasn't one.  She just felt like cooking for the people on her hall.)

But I am not cool.  I wonder if she can sense my sheer joy.  Someone has cooked.  And someone is sharing with me.  On a day that I didn't want to get out of my house and I have limped through prayer, showing compassion for my mother, and completing important tasks at work.  I thank her.  Twice.  Maybe three times.  Maybe I overdid the thanks.

As I return to my desk with a paper bowl of steaming chicken tortilla soup topped with classic Fritos and shredded cheese and a slice of tender orange bundt-style cake with a sweet glaze wrapped in a brown paper towel, I am actually giddy.

On this cold, damp Friday that should have been a Saturday, I feel the love. Thank you, God, for your goodness and for your gift of MKR.  Some days, you just have to show up to get the blessing.