Sloppy Josés
Visiting my grandma's house was a challenge.
My Grandma Bram was a strict woman. As a product of the Great Depression, she would come up with the craftiest of ways not to waste ANYTHING. At grandma's house every morsel on our plate had to be eaten up, with haste. Any crumb left on our plate was to be licked clean leaving nothing to be desired. Waste not, want not.
I remember looking for ketchup one day (no doubt, to cover up the taste of freezer burnt fish sticks). Grandma told me there was a new, unopened bottle in the pantry. Going to the pantry I found said bottle; this bottle sure was unopened! But it did not look new and shiny, but rather dusty. The ketchup inside the bottle had separated, forming some kind of foam on the top, and a heavy thick black goop at the bottom. The expiration date? April 1993. This was 2001.
She had a system when we came to her house. The methodical woman would make tacos the first night for dinner and sloppy joes the next day for lunch. Grandma Bram would brown one pound of hamburger, using a Hy-vee brand package of taco meat seasonings. We would cut around the mold on a few tomatoes and get just enough to make a suitable half dozen tacos. My younger sister Loretta and I knew the rules. Every speck of food was cleaned off our plates before we left the table.
In keeping with her meal schedule, Grandma would slap together sloppy joes the next day, using the meat prepared and left over from the night before. She added a half can of crushed tomatoes, stirred, and nuked for thirty seconds. Then she piled the taco-seasoned, Man-wich meat high on top of the stale bun and called us in to eat. And voilà: sloppy Josés
Every. Single. Time. Without fail, Loretta would take one bite of her south-of-the- border sloppy joe and stare at it. She stared at it hoping, praying, wishing that sandwich would just grow legs and walk away. Grandma Bram would tell her that she couldn't move until she ate every scant of food on her plate.
I, of course, ate my sandwich as fast as I could for two reasons. One: I wanted to be the good kid. I could not, would not let anyone down. Two: I... uh... was hungry.
Loretta would whimper and take another bite. She couldn't do it. She played with the napkin holder pretending it was a car. She made salt and pepper shakers fall in love. All while sitting in her chair staring at an open faced taco sloppy José she refused to eat.
I would get so fed up waiting for her to get done and come to bed that I would run into the dining room, scarf down the sandwich, not leaving a single microscopic morsel of food behind, and help Loretta off her chair to brush her teeth.
To this day, sloppy joes are hard for me to swallow.
To(morrow)day
Loretta and I grew to hate taco night simply because we knew what was to come the very next day. That's what today feels like.
I am resenting today because I know what tomorrow brings.
For me, tomorrow brings pain. Tomorrow brings sadness. For me, as far as my story is written, tomorrow (and the next day and the next day and don't forget the next day) will bring sorrow.
Tomorrow brings rejection, doubt, serious and substantial loss.
Tomorrow momma may not be with me.
Tomorrow, for me, in this moment, is scary, is absolutely overwhelming, and is already a horror written in blood.
But here's the thing.
I don't want to dread taco day anymore. I freaking love tacos.
I don't want to dread today anymore. I love today. And I can learn to love tomorrows too. Through tear soaked eyes, mascara running down my face, staining my shirt. Through clenched teeth of anger and confusion. Through belly laughs of pure, unhindered joy.
I have to commit myself and God to these things:
I commit to pray my way through my todays so that my tomorrows become that much easier.
I commit to pray for enough strength to make it hour by hour. I commit to rest in the Spirit's arms.
I commit to not hating tacos just because taco meat doesn't make great sloppy joes.
I commit to understanding that my past failures and abuse, my present pains and trauma, are no indication of what the future will bring.
What (or maybe the better question is Who) do you need commit to this very minute?
God prepares my plate yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
With Him sloppy Josés will not taste as bad.