The Bay Leaf

When One Small Irritation Overshadows a Table Full of Blessings

Last night our family gathered around the table - my wife, our son, my mother-in-law - to shared one of those simple dinners that, looking back, was anything but ordinary.

My son Jason had spent the afternoon handcrafting a pot of French onion soup because he knows how much I love it. As we gathered around the table, we enjoyed a fresh spinach salad with strawberries, a glass of wine, and the simple gift of being together. It was one of those evenings that quietly reminds me how rich life really is.

Then came the bay leaf.

Somehow, I swallowed a small piece that lodged in my throat.
For a few anxious moments, I wondered if it was partially obstructing my airway and whether a trip to the emergency room might be in order.

For the next hour, it became the center of my attention. I could think about little else. The discomfort eclipsed the wonderful soup my son had lovingly prepared, the laughter around the table, and the simple joy of being together.

As I reflected on it later, I realized that’s often my natural tendency.
One irritation can eclipse a dozen blessings.

One anxious moment can overshadow an otherwise beautiful day.
One painful experience can quietly steal my attention from everything that is good.

Thankfully, the bay leaf eventually passed.

But something else remained.

The soup my son had carefully prepared.
The laughter.
The conversation.
The love of family gathered around one table.

In two days, Lord willing, I’ll celebrate my sixty-ninth birthday. The older I become, the more I’m convinced that a meaningful life isn’t built on extraordinary events alone. It’s built on ordinary evenings that, at the time, hardly seem worth remembering.

Maybe that’s what Moses meant when he prayed, “Teach us to number our days.” Not simply to count another birthday, but to recognize the quiet gifts God places before us every single day.

The bay leaf is already forgotten.

But I’ll remember my son standing over a pot of onion soup because he knew his dad would enjoy it.

I’ll remember my wife beside me.

I’ll remember Cyndee’s mom across the table.

I’ll remember another ordinary evening that, in the end, was anything but ordinary.