The Sandwich I'll Never Forget
Why I still remember a lunch from nearly thirty years ago
One of my first good paying jobs was delivering prescriptions for a local drugstore. During my first couple of weeks, an older gentleman was assigned to train me. Other than showing me the delivery routes and giving me instructions, we really hadn’t talked that much.
One day he casually said, “You’re eating lunch with me and my wife today.”
To be honest, it caught me off guard. We had only known each other for a week or two. Going to someone’s house for lunch wasn’t something I expected during my training. Still, I was raised to be polite, and besides, he certainly didn’t have to invite me. I thanked him, and we headed to his house.
We walked through the side door into a small kitchen where his wife greeted me with a smile and asked if I was hungry. I was nineteen years old. That answer was always yes.
A few minutes later she brought us lunch. It was a country ham sandwich with thick slices of tomato and a decent bit of mayonnaise.
Now I need to confess something. I have never been a big fan of country ham. Growing up on a farm, that probably sounds strange, but it has always been a little too salty for me. Fresh tomatoes have never been my thing either. Honestly, tomatoes of any kind are not on my favorite foods list.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind them cooked down into spaghetti sauce or turned into ketchup, but biting into a thick slice of tomato has never appealed to me. As for mayonnaise, I tolerate it a lot better now than I did back then.
In other words, she had unknowingly fixed me just about the last sandwich I would have picked for myself. I quickly began giving myself a pep talk in my head.
“You can do this, Maury.”
I picked it up and immediately noticed a huge slice of tomato. It wasn’t one of those little slices that gets lost on a sandwich. This thing was thick. Anyone who loves tomatoes would have thought they had hit the jackpot. I did not feel like I had won anything.
I smiled, took a bite, and started chewing.
My strategy was simple. I chewed until I could swallow the bite with a drink.
Speaking of the drink, she had asked if I wanted a Coke. I happily said yes. She brought me a tall glass with plenty of ice.
It was Diet Coke. I knew it the second I took a sip.
At that point I had a decision to make. I could think about everything that wasn’t the way I liked it, or I could simply appreciate the fact that an older couple had invited a young delivery driver they barely knew into their home for lunch.
So I ate every bite of that sandwich. Every bite. Down to the last piece of tomato.
I drank every drop of that Diet Coke.
When she kindly asked if I wanted another sandwich, I smiled and said, “No, thank you. I’m good. Thank you, though.”
Looking back, I realized pretty quickly that the lunch was never about the food. She was probably serving me the same lunch she had been making for her husband for years. It reminded me of my grandparents. Grandma fixed lunch for my Paw Paw almost every day. There was something familiar about it. They weren’t trying to impress me. They were simply sharing what they had. They were sharing a portion of their day together.
I’ve thought about that lunch many times over the years.
Jesus once sent His disciples into towns to minister, and He gave them an interesting instruction. In Luke 10, He told them that when someone welcomed them into a home, they were to stay there and “eat and drink what they offer you” (Luke 10:7-8).
I’ve always liked that picture.
Jesus knew hospitality wasn’t really about the menu. It was about the people opening their home. Receiving someone’s kindness with gratitude honors the heart behind the invitation.
I wonder how often we miss that.
We get so focused on what we want that we overlook someone’s generosity. We critique the meal, the gift, the timing, or the circumstances instead of simply saying, “Thank you.”
I’m glad nineteen-year-old Maury didn’t decide to tell that sweet lady everything he didn’t like about her lunch.
Instead, I got to enjoy something much better than a sandwich. I experienced kindness.
I honestly don’t remember much about delivering prescriptions during those weeks. I don’t remember many of the addresses or even many of the deliveries.
I do remember that little kitchen. I remember a country ham sandwich with a tomato that seemed way too thick. I remember a tall glass of Diet Coke.
Most of all, I remember an older couple who made room at their table for a young man they barely knew.
Funny how the things we remember most aren’t always our favorite meals.
Sometimes they’re simply the moments when someone made us feel welcome.
Thanks for reading Grit & Wit.
Have you ever had someone show you kindness in an ordinary way that you still remember years later? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.
If this article encouraged you, consider sharing it with someone who has a gift for making people feel welcome.