By Katie Blackburn
@katiemblackburn

I wanted to thank you all for bringing us meals after we had our baby. I know, I know, you’re going to say “Of course, friend! It was no big deal. That’s what people do when someone has a baby!” But you need to know that to me, to us, it was all a very big deal.

When you showed up at our door with a big foil pan of pulled pork and warm (warm!), homemade (homemade!) sourdough bread, (I’m sure you remember that it was 4 p.m. and I was still in my pajamas, which you swiftly and confidently assured me was absolutely fine), you picked up our six-day-old baby and told me how precious he was, and in that moment, when I cannot remember if I had even brushed my teeth that day, I felt peace. You didn’t know I had been carrying a heavy guilt around, because I was exhausted and the big kids wanted more of me than I could give and nothing, not one thing I set out to do around the house that day was done, and yet there was still warm sourdough, and there was peace at dinner.

And the day you brought baked oatmeal, the one that I could just throw in the oven the next morning for breakfast that every single person in the family absolutely loved, did I tell you what a grace that was? I had been up nearly once an hour the night before, “shhhshing” and nursing and adjusting the pacifier, and we had to get six kids loaded in the car by 8:00am for school drop-off. But by 7:15am, as the kids emerged from their bedrooms for the day and the house smelled like cinnamon and brown sugar, I felt such gratitude. You didn’t know how many mornings we’ve been in the car when a certain eight-year-old announced from the backseat, “I’m starving! I didn’t get breakfast!” and I roll my eyes in frustration and scold her for not finding something to eat by herself even though I know darn well she is a child, she’s (often) going to forget to get her own breakfast. Not that day. We took a few minutes to eat together, and even though at least two little people could still not find matching shoes when it was time to go, we set off on our day with full bellies and for that, I am so, so grateful.

Of course there was the night you brought tacos, which we will never forget. Our microwave has been broken for nearly six months and because we have still done nothing about it, we turned the oven on to keep the meat warm. Not five minutes later, as you and I were catching up, we all noticed the smoke and the smell filling the kitchen and there it was, the small fire in the oven, shamelessly outing us for never cleaning it and allowing whatever crumbs had fallen to the bottom to turn to flames. Thank you, thank you for laughing with us once we got the fire out, because you could not have known that since having our sixth child, every little thing is making me feel like I’m failing, pushing me to the verge of a tearful breakdown, including the oven that is months overdue for a good scrub. Your laughter and words assured me that everyone has something overdue in their life, new baby or not. There was no need for shame around you.  

And I can’t forget the breakfast burritos, the baked spaghetti, the pot pie, the carne asada, the white chicken chili. Or the 10 a.m. text message telling me there was a coffee waiting at the front door, one I didn’t even have to worry about thanking you in person for. Oh and the cookie dough, prepped and ready for our eight-year-old to make cookies for everyone, which she was so delighted to do (once we cleaned the oven), an extra touch of thoughtfulness. I could go on, but you all need to know that every single meal was so much more than a meal, it was grace, and I’ll tell you why.

Because when you showed up, you showed my children what it looks like to serve others. For six weeks they watched and waited with anticipation for our friends to bring us food, and they learned that the simplest things often help people in the biggest ways, which is a lesson I hope we continue to live out as a family for the rest of our lives. 

Because you reminded me that “help” is not a bad word. It is a vital one. Each meal not only told me I don’t have to go it alone in the toughest, busiest seasons, but that I am not even expected to go it alone. I’m expected to let people bring us dinner. Well friends, all of your help and delicious cooking and care, I needed it, and I receive it. 

Because sometimes motherhood pushes you into a place of obscurity, where you feel like no one sees the grit, the exhaustion, the anxiety or the profound feeling of failure at every turn. But then a friend shows up and feeds you, both physically and emotionally, and in doing so says, “I see you.” Did you know a meal had that much potential? Each tray of food placed on the kitchen counter reminded me I’ve got people in my corner, and even when all the tough parts of motherhood have tempted me to think hiding and crying is the only way through, a knock at the door and a bowl of macaroni and cheese pulled me out and reminded me that a hug and laugh—at the pajamas at 4:00pm or the fire in the oven—will do infinitely more for my heart than hiding ever could. 

So thank you, meal bringers all around the world, for showing up. Thank you for nourishing us, in all the ways you do. Thank you for the tacos and cookies and casseroles, and for the gifts underneath those gifts: the grace and mercy and friendship. We will never forget this season, for all the ways it was so, so challenging and for all the ways God provided in the form of, well, you, and warm sourdough.