Little is big when it comes to love ~ September 27, 2001

David Heiller

Cindy and I recently were visiting with a couple of friends, Owen and Linda. They told a funny story that made us both smile.

Owen, Cindy, Linda, David

They had been invited out to dinner. The host served a casserole covered with cashews. Linda does not like cashews. It is one of only two things that she cannot stand to eat. Owen knows that. So he served himself first and scraped away some extra cashews, saying how much he liked them. That gave Linda a safe place to scoop up some hot dish without having to deal with a pile of cashews.

Owen did not have to do this. It probably wouldn’t have mattered too much to the host if Linda had left a few cashews on her plate. But he did it because he knows her and loves her, and she appreciated it.

I think it’s those little acts of love, the kind that take a bit of sacrifice, that matter the most.

Moroccan mint tea is wonderful and sweet. Mint tea is ubiquitous in Morocco, and the serving is full of ceremony. I liked mint tea, but this particular tea was twice as sweet as was customary. 
It wasn't the first or the last time that David 
saved me in an awkward social situation!

Cindy still talks about something I did for her in Morocco. It was similar to what Owen did. We were being served a fancy meal at the home of an old couple. Cindy and I had eaten as much as we could. We were full. Then came the mint tea. Moroccan mint tea is served very, very sweet. It is about the same sweetness as what we feed hummingbirds. Cindy took one sip and knew she couldn’t finish her tea. But it would have been a great faux pas to not do so. So she gave me a look, probably the same look Linda gave Owen. Subtle and desperate. I knew she needed help. So when our host left the room for a few seconds, I chugged that mint tea down faster than a football player at a keg party. I can still feel that sugar rushing down my throat. I broke into an instant sweat. My face turned red. I gave a big smile when the lady came back into the room. So did Cindy. So did our host. Everyone won, although I never looked at a glass of mint tea the same way.

Sometimes a sacrifice of love goes undetected. That’s even better, the thankless kind. It^’s almost a cliché in our family, but I still recall how my Grandma Schnick would only eat the wings when we would have chicken on Sunday. She insisted very convincingly that she really liked the wings. I could never understand that, because there wasn’t much to like. But I believed her. Now I understand. I always got a leg. I loved chicken legs. Still do. Grandma never took a leg. Because she just loved the wings. Right.

My mom carried on the same tradition, only she substituted the neck for the wings. That seemed even stranger to me, because the neck is even skimpier than the wing. Now I find myself doing the same thing.

Cindy does even more. Mothers are the greatest at making sacrifices of love.

I’m not belittling big acts of love and sacrifice, like a sister giving a kidney to a brother. Sometimes even lives are sacrificed in the name of love, as we are reminded at church every Sunday.

But it’s those little ones that come out every day in every way, that really enrich our lives. They are woven into our routines so tightly that we take them for granted. But they mean a lot more than a person might think. Especially if you don’t like cashews.