One of my fondest memories from my teenage years is eating liver and onions at my grandma’s house. Yes, liver and onions! My grandma lived by herself near our house, and every now and then she would get a hankering for the dish but didn’t want to eat another meal alone. So, she’d call and invite us over for dinner.
Initially my sister and I didn’t like liver and onions, and grandma knew that. So, she would serve homemade macaroni and cheese with buttered toasted bread crumbs on top as a side dish to the liver and onions. We could have just the macaroni or we could have it with the liver.
The reason she never made us eat the liver was because having our company for the meal was more important than seeing us choke down something we didn’t like just to appease her. Instead of making an issue between us about the liver and onions, she wouldn’t really even mention it.
She would ask us questions about our day, engaging us about what mattered to us, not what mattered to her—the very least of which was whether or not we would like her liver and onions! What I believe she hoped was that we would consider it because we loved her and everything else she cooked.
Nearly 35 years later, I now make myself liver and onions! And one of the things I miss most about grandma, besides her amazing cooking, is the comfortable acceptance I always felt around her table.
I wonder if the same could be said about how we “set the table” for people we love when we want to discuss questions of faith with them? It seems we could take a lesson from my grandma and set aside our desire to start with and settle the “liver and onions” question. Nothing eternal is gained by making our guests choke down something they may not be ready to swallow just to appease us. Couldn’t we instead ask a “macaroni and cheese” question, trusting that, because they like us, they might consider the “liver and onions” in time?
What’s your best “macaroni and cheese” question? Share it today!
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