Meatballs

I have a friend who loves me like a brother would. It is a real love, an authentic love, a “I will come to your aid at any time of the day or night, rain or shine, sunshine or snow” kind of love. He knows that I (we) are struggling with Mama. Tonight he brought us a large pot of his amazing homemade meatballs and sauce. We had nothing planned for dinner. I made pasta and we dipped this liquid love onto our plates and ate it with gusto. It was so delicious and it was also so deliciously made by a person who only knows how to love with his whole heart and his whole stove. It tasted like heaven. If (and when) I fall behind and feel bleak and hopeless and cannot find brightness anywhere around me, I will think of my friend and know that no matter how ugly I am or feel or behave, he will look at me exactly the same way he always does, with his Father’s eyes.