The world begins at a kitchen table.
No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table.
So it has been since creation, and it will go on. . . .
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
— Joy Harjo,
“Perhaps the World Ends Here”

An 8-year-old under­going chemo. The vol­ley­ball coach having knee surgery weeks before the season begins. A friend with a new baby, another who lost a parent.

As I layer sauce, noodles and cheese into aluminum pans, I offer prayers for healing, hope and comfort.

I didn’t realize in becoming a mother I would be deciding what everyone eats for every meal forever. (That’s an internet meme.) Yes, meal planning and preparation are wearying. Yet we must eat to live.

As I slide the glass casserole dish into the oven for my family, I scrawl out baking directions in Sharpie across the foil lids of the others. I write a word of blessing. A prayer for those who will retrieve this humble offering from the cooler or the grocery bags left on the porch.

We discover God’s loving presence in acts of care and service. Sometimes I show my love by feeding people. It’s a gesture that can feel small. Yet, when I have been on the receiving end, it has meant so much.

The friend who brought donuts and folded laundry after my gallbladder surgery. The meal train of friends who showed up with hot casseroles and freezer meals while I was healing from a C-section. The acquaintance who stuck a Lego set in with the fixings for taco salad when we were stuck at home with COVID.

How do people navigate without a community?

When I think my quiet acts aren’t enough, or a pan of cinnamon rolls is too basic, I remember Jesus feasted at more tables than he flipped. It’s not one act over the other, but the reminder that being with others in the day’s ordinary routines is also sacred work.

Being Christ to one another isn’t complicated. Sometimes it’s as simple as making an extra lasagna.

Sherah-Leigh Gerber is an ordained minister and spiritual director who lives in northeast Ohio with her family. She writes on Substack at Around the Table and blogs at somecomfortandjoy.com.

Wheatie Balls

From Comfort & Joy: Readings and Practices for Advent by Sherah-Leigh Gerber and Gwen Lantz (Herald Press, September 2024).

My daughter Anna and I make Christmas candy together, and we often try new recipes. We carefully selected a few favorites from family traditions to begin, and we also made space to develop new favorites and traditions. When my mother-in-law passed away, we added Wheatie Balls and caramels to our repertoire to connect our Christmas celebrations with that part of our extended family.

Ingredients
1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened
2 cups peanut butter
3¾ cups powdered sugar
12 cups flake cereal (such as Wheaties), crushed
2 pounds coating chocolate or chocolate melting wafers (milk, dark, or a combination of both)

Method
In a large bowl, combine the butter, peanut butter, powdered sugar and cereal until well mixed and free of clumps.

Using a cookie scoop or tablespoon, divide the dough into small, uniform portions, rolling each by hand to smooth into balls that are approximately the diameter of a quarter and no larger than a golf ball.

Place dough balls onto a parchment-lined baking sheet. Chill in the freezer for 15 to 20 minutes.

In the top of a double boiler or melting pot, melt the coating chocolate. (The coating chocolate can also be melted in the microwave, but to avoid burning, heat in short increments of 15 to 20 seconds and stir well between each time in the microwave.)

Remove the tray of dough balls from the freezer. Using a fork or skewer, dip each of the dough balls into the melted chocolate, turning until completely coated. Return dipped balls to the parchment-lined baking sheet and allow the chocolate to harden.

Wheatie Balls will keep in the freezer for up to three months.

Yields approximately 6 dozen.