Savor

Yesterday was a long day. I left the house at 6:30 a.m. and returned after 11 p.m. Some good things happened. Some not-so-good things also happened. On my drive home (my meetings were 2+ hours from where we live), I reflected on the day. I rehashed the bad parts and gave thanks for the good ones - admittedly, there was more rehashing than thanksgiving. I woke up this morning, still in marathon mode, checking off the list of things to do and things that need to be done later today.
My husband had an early meeting, so I finished my upstairs checklist and went to the kitchen to start working on the downstairs list. Most mornings we share duties but yesterday he was on his own and this morning I was the sole parent on staff. This morning sounded something like this:
“Where’s your backpack? I need backpacks, y’all!”
“Pack a snack for yourself.”
“Mommy, some people eat two snacks at snack time. . .”
“No, you may not pack two snacks. One is fine.”
“Have you brushed your hair?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sure?”
“We’re too late to go to breakfast so what kind of cereal do you want?”
“Ugh! I didn’t want that kind of cereal!”
“Next time, get up and get dressed and be down here early enough to pick your own cereal!”

No one else’s house sounds like this? Just mine? Huh. Strange.
The kids were finishing their cereal when my 10-year-old wandered into the kitchen and hovered near me.
“What do you need?” I said, exasperated.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you standing here?”
“I just want to give you a hug.”

I wrapped my arms around her. The tight string that was pulling my entire body towards the ceiling suddenly released. I felt my blood pressure drop immediately. I curved my body down around the shape of her and rested my cheek on the top of her head.

Savor. “Savor this,” I told myself.

We can’t savor when we’re in a hurry. It’s an action that demands time and passivity. It’s not so much an action word as a word about receiving. Savor.

On my way to my office this morning I tried to remember the last time I savored a meal. Most of the times I’m barely registering the flavor of the food while also carrying on conversations and making sure my kids are both eating and not making a mess. Like most of the actions of life, eating becomes a perfunctory process.

We savor to get the whole flavor of a thing: a glass of wine, a bite of perfect soft cheese, the first tomato sandwich of the summer (white bread, tomato, Duke’s mayo, and plenty of pepper. This is something you must get right!). We take the bite and chew but it’s our taste buds that do the work and it is passive. The molecules of sour, sweet, buttery, peppery, all pass over those tiny buds on our tongues, which then send signals of delight or distaste to our brains. Our job is merely to reflexively chew and let the receptors do the rest.

When my daughter hugged me this morning, my job was passive. Once I had done the work of wrapping my body around her, my involuntary response systems took over. My job became to savor that moment and just breathe. The signals to my brain pushed it to shed some stress and release the marathon mode my body was continuing to inhabit.

“Savor” sounds like a pretentious word reserved for meals of luxury. It feels like something we can and should only do once the work of necessity is complete. In other words, subconsciously we believe it is something we don’t have time for nor do we deserve. “Savor” is for the frivolous enjoyment of luxuries, not for practical people.

No, friends. Savoring is a necessity. “Savor” is only one letter away from “Savior.” We need to be stopped, saved from ourselves and our desire to go-go-go. We must learn to be more passive, to revel in sensations and responses outside of our control or doing.
I think on the Last Supper. Jesus reclined at the Passover table with his friends. They ate delicious food, prepared out of thanksgiving and remembrance. Because he knew this was his last meal with his friends, he savored that night. We hear this in his words and how he lovingly showered affection, wisdom, and encouragement on his disciples. Each moment was precious to him.

Then, I think of the disciples. It was just another Passover meal to them. They ate the foods they expected. I imagine the crumbs falling from their mouths in their eagerness to argue with one another and interrupt Jesus to disagree. Did they register a single bite that night? Did they later regret not savoring those last hours they had with Christ?

To savor is no luxury but a necessity. Don’t get so caught up in doing that you miss receiving the gift of the moment. Let yourself be passive. Let the little gifts of touch, interaction, and joy, wash over you. Allow your mind the quiet space to process and fire off those synapsis that will turn that moment into memory.
Savor, friends, everyday.