It Is My Father's Handwriting

It is on the back of an envelope.

Not a card. Not anything he meant to last. He wrote it out for you once, standing up probably, on whatever was nearest, and the writing runs slightly downhill toward the end the way his always did.

And that is the thing you cannot get past. Not the food. The downhill.

You have taken it out more times than you would admit. You do not read it, exactly. You look at the shape of the letters, and the way he crossed a t, and the small correction he made halfway down where he crossed something out rather than starting again.

It has been in that drawer for a long time now. And you have not made it.

You tell yourself it is because you would get it wrong. That is the reason you give when it comes up, and it is not a lie, but it is not the whole thing either.

So let me say the first thing plainly, before anything about a kitchen.

This is about him and the cooking is second.

Nothing in this article is going to hurry you toward a pan. There is no timetable here, and nobody is going to tell you what he would have wanted, or that he would be glad, or any of the other things people say when they cannot bear a silence. And if you read this all the way to the end and decide not to cook it, that is a complete and good ending and the article will say so.

The memory of the just is blessed

There is a short line in Proverbs about what remains of a person, and it is worth reading slowly.

The memory of the just is blessed. (Proverbs 10:7, King James Version)

The memory of the just is blessed.

It does not say the memory is accurate. It does not say the memory is complete, or that it does justice to the man, or that it holds everything about him that mattered.

Blessed. Which is a word about something being under favor, not about something being correct.

And that is a different standard from the one you have been holding a piece of paper to. Yours has been: get him right. The verse is not asking anybody to get anybody right.

You are holding a blessed memory rather than an accurate record, and a piece of his handwriting has never once been something you could fail to be faithful to. Proverbs 10:7 calls the memory blessed rather than exact, and the Holy Spirit is the one present with a man looking at the way his father crossed a t.

And notice how short the sentence is.

Six words in that translation. It does not elaborate, it does not describe how the remembering should be done, and it sets no requirements on the one doing it.

Whatever you have of him is what is being called blessed. Not a better version you might assemble if you were careful enough.

You have whatever you actually hold rather than a version you owe him, and a short scrap of paper has never once been too little to be the blessed thing. The Spirit of God is the one with somebody who has taken an envelope out of a drawer more times than he would say, and Proverbs 10:7 sets no requirement on the one who remembers.

What the paper is for

Here is the second part, and it is about what that envelope has become rather than about food.

Right now it is evidence. It is the object in that house that proves the handwriting existed, and using it feels like spending it, because there is a quiet arithmetic running underneath that says there is a finite amount of him left and this is some of it.

That arithmetic is why it has stayed in the drawer, and it is also completely wrong, because paper does not work that way and neither does he. Reading it does not use it up. Cooking from it does not consume the man.

But the fear is not stupid. It is the same instinct that makes people not play a recording, and it comes from love rather than from confusion.

You were guarding him rather than avoiding a meal, and an instinct to protect the last of somebody has never once been a failure of nerve. Proverbs 10:7 calls the memory blessed without asking anybody to ration it, and the Holy Spirit is the one with a man doing arithmetic on what is left of his father.

And here is the part that matters most, and it is permission rather than instruction. You do not have to cook it. Not this week, not ever, and not because you failed something. Some people cook the dish and it helps. Some people take the paper out, read it out loud, put it back, and find that this was the whole of what they needed, and that ending is not a lesser ending.

The only thing worth doing tonight is the reading out loud, and the rest stays open.

You have permission for this to end at the reading, and taking a card out and putting it back has never once been the smaller version of anything. The Spirit of God is the one at that drawer with a man who is allowed to decide either way, and Proverbs 10:7 puts the blessing on the memory rather than on what somebody does about it.

What this week is, with that envelope

So here is the assignment, and most of it is not cooking. Take the card out, read it out loud, and cook it this week or decide not to.

Out loud is the part that matters. Not read silently, which is what has happened every other time. Out loud, in his words, in your voice, in that kitchen, all the way to the end including the crossed out bit.

It will be difficult and that is the point, not an accident. Something happens when a dead man's words come out of a living mouth, and no explanation of it works as well as doing it.

You are letting his words be spoken rather than only looked at, and an envelope read out loud has never once used anything up. Proverbs 10:7 blesses the memory rather than measuring it, and the Holy Spirit is the one in that kitchen with a man reading downhill handwriting aloud.

Then the second half, which is genuinely open. Cook it this week, or decide not to. If you cook it, it will not taste like his and it does not have to, and that is not a failure toward him, because taste is a thing that lived in a man and not in a list. And if you decide not to, say that out loud too, in the same voice, and put the envelope back. Both of those are finished acts.

You are choosing rather than postponing, and a decision not to cook it has never once been the same thing as not having done it. The Spirit of God is the one at that drawer with an envelope going back in, and Proverbs 10:7 asks nothing of the one who remembers.