The Parable of the Tuscan Sandwich

"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God." —Matthew 5:9

A few weeks back, my dear friend Kylie and I met up for lunch, our young kids in tow. When I arrived, Kylie was already at the counter placing an order. A few paces back in line, I held Bean* and Peanut's* hands in either of mine while I studied the menu, scanning through Nutella-stuffed crepes and cheddar-potato chowders.

The Tuscan sandwich is the one that caught my eye; an ensemble of grilled chicken breast, melty cheese, and fresh roma tomatoes all cradled between two sourdough slices. Yes, please.

After placing my order, the kids and I scooted over to the table Kylie had reserved, settled into our seats, and placed our order number at the edge of the table. The kids babbled while Kylie and I started catching up. A minute or two later, a server brought out two plates of chicken fingers—for Kylie's kids—as well as my Tuscan sandwich. To my delight, a side of rosemary fries filled the plate next to my oozy cheesy sandwich. Fantastic, I thought to myself, I didn't know it came with fries!

A minute or two after that, the server brought out Bean and Peanut's meals, as well as Kylie's own sandwich.

"You got a Tuscan, too?" I said.

"Yep," she said, smiling. "It looked really good."

"I know, right?"

Grinning, I thought about how fitting it was that we'd ordered the same sandwich. Kylie and I once joked about making a list of the things we have in common; it's an inordinate amount. Her husband, Zach, piped in with his own suggestion: "Instead, you should save yourselves some work and make a list of the reasons you're different. That list will be a lot shorter."

Kylie, the kids and I all dug into our food. As perceived, the sandwich was delicious, and the rosemary fries were a perfect pairing. While the kids smeared their faces with ketchup and donut frosting, Kylie caught me up on her artwork and I caught her up on my writing.

Good food, good company, good-mood kids. It was a lovely lunch.

As things were winding down, I glanced down at my plate to grab the few remaining fries. Looking at those last bits of potato nubbins, a niggling thought crept across my mind: I didn't order these fries. I glanced at Kylie's plate, and a chill shot up my spine. Wait, she doesn't have any fries . . .

"Kylie!" I said, interrupting the normal flow of conversation. Horrified, I pointed to my plate. "These were your fries!"

She laughed, then offered a forgiving smile. "They were, but it's not a big deal."

My eyes sank to my plate again. How hadn't I seen it before? The server had given me Kylie's plate! She hadn't said anything about it. And I hadn't said anything about it, until now. "I'm so sorry!" I said, my face flushing hot. "I can pay you back for them!"

She shook her head. "No, it's okay. Don't worry about it. I'm glad you enjoyed them."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I'm sure," she said.

We finished clearing our places, wiped our kids' faces, and gave hugs goodbye.

On the way home, I festered for a bit about the sandwich scenario, starting in on those destructive How could you? That was so stupid! self dialogues.

A minute or two into the criticism barrage, however, the memory of Kylie's reaction stilled my thoughts. "Don't worry about it," she'd said. "I'm glad you enjoyed them." For the rest of the ride home, I marveled about Kylie's response. Instead of feeling frustrated about my faux pas, she'd felt genuine happiness that I'd enjoyed her fries. As I reflected on her forgiveness towards me, I started to feel forgiveness for myself, and those destructive self dialogues dissipated. I was left with a warmth in my chest and a desire to pay it forward.

Jesus said, "blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God." For all our similarities, I'm not sure I would have responded to a fry-theft with as much compassion and grace as Kylie did, had our positions been flipped. My hope this week, my friends, is that we can all strive to be the kind of peacemaker Jesus talked about, the kind of peacemaker my friend Kylie is. That we can be happy with our Tuscan sandwich and be okay with giving up our fries.

Let us commit to seeing the mistakes of those around us with more compassion and grace.

Happy Sabbath!

-MJ