During the pandemic, many people rediscovered the joy of home cooking. There were days when supermarkets ran out of flour because everyone started baking bread at home. I learned bread making from my daughter, who worked in a bakery during her college days. Trapped in our Hamptons house for 18 months, I baked not only sourdough bread but also English muffins and bagels. I had to order flour in bulk from Walmart because it was sold out in nearby stores. Recipes from Master You (YouTube) and Master Goo (Google) turned me into a decent chef within a matter of months. I even started making my own kimchi after some trial and error.
As they often say, it’s a blessing in disguise. Many times, that’s how God’s blessings work. There’s always a reason why we have to go through what we do, and it’s usually a good reason when we look back once everything is over.
Going through isolation, we now appreciate human interaction more. Simple pleasures we took for granted, like seeing friends, became more precious. My husband and I initially thought we could enjoy quiet moments just the two of us, taking a break from constant hosting. But as time went on, we started to miss people. Perhaps it hit us even more drastically since our house had a revolving door policy before the pandemic.
Having lived in the US for the past 40 years, we feel like foreigners whenever we go back to Korea, even though we visit every year. There’s a strange phenomenon I noticed during my recent visits to Korea: hardly anyone invites guests to their homes for a home-cooked meal anymore, no matter how close you are. In a way, I understand, given the abundance of fabulous restaurants throughout Korea, a country known for its food culture.
It was different when I was growing up. Inviting and hosting people at home wasn’t a big deal. People shared whatever they had in those days. I can’t help but miss those times when things were scarce but generosity was abundant.
There’s a Bible verse from the book of Deuteronomy that my husband and I love:
“Do not deprive the foreigner or the fatherless of justice, or take the cloak of the widow as a pledge. When you are harvesting in your field and you overlook a sheaf, do not go back to get it. Leave it for the foreigner, the fatherless and the widow, so that the Lord your God may bless you in all the work of your hands.” (Deuteronomy 24:17, 19 NIV)
We know we don’t have much talent or a burning passion for evangelism, but there must be something we’re good for. We happen to love hosting and cooking for friends. Living in a city like New York, where lodging is expensive, we also get to offer a place to stay to visitors. Some of them are friends’ children, not orphans, but their parents are far away. Often, we become their foster parents during their stay in NY. I myself was a student in a foreign country when I was younger and felt like an orphan with my parents far across the ocean. Those who visited us were foreigners, just like we are foreigners ourselves until we go back to our home in heaven. I am grateful for the opportunity to help and serve those who can benefit from our care. We were fortunate and well-provided for, so we can offer places to stay. Still, I am not certain whether I can say that I did my very best to help others in need when we stand in front of our Father in heaven.
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