Momwich

Photo by David Disponett from Pexels

My favorite indoor sport these days is eating. I’ve had a lot of practice at it, and I’m good at it–really good. I not only chow down, but I also chow any direction I can. I can do such a good job cleaning a steak bone that the dog actually cries and turns his head away when I offer it to him after the meal. Well…….not actually, but for effect you must acknowledge that it sounded good.

I have been going into a place fairly regularly to get lunch. When I first started going there it took about three trips before the lady that works there knew exactly what I wanted and how I wanted it. After those three trips she knew exactly what a “momwich” was and from then on, I have gotten the absolute best lunch sandwiches a guy could possibly ask for. Here’s how the very first trip went:

Her, “how can I help you?”

Me, “I’ll have a momwich please.”

Her, “a what?”

Me, “you know, a momwich….I’m guessing you had kids.”

Her, “yes, but I don’t get what you mean…please enlighten me.”

Me, “when I was growing up and it was lunch time, mom never asked me what I wanted for lunch. She made me a sandwich, gave it to me, and I ate it–whatever it might have been, because that was all I was going to get. A momwich is a sandwich my mom made. I never knew what it was going to be, I didn’t have to ask for anything or make any decisions, and all I needed to do was accept it, eat it, and enjoy it.”

Her, “now that’s funny.”

Me, “yes, but I’d still like a momwich please. Just pretend you’re mom, you’re making me a sandwich, and I’ll take it, pay for it, and eat it.”

Her, “but I don’t know what you like or don’t like, want or don’t want.”

Me, “neither did mom, and she never asked. She just made the sandwich and I ate it. I’ll still do that.”

Well, she laughed like crazy, she did–but she made me a momwich which I paid for and then ate the dickens out of it because it was awesome. And I’ve been going back there ever since, have never gotten a sandwich I didn’t like, and we both continue to laugh about it. Plus, I swear I am getting sandwiches with more fixings and more goodies then the folks ordering their “here’s what I want” sandwiches, for the same price.

I’m confident that God is a master of “momwich’s” and that He makes me a “momwich” each and every day. He didn’t ask me what I would want or what I would like today. Nor did He ask me what I didn’t like or wouldn’t want. When I woke up this morning, I found out that He had dished out another day, just like He has with all the past ones–a day that I could either enjoy or not—but it was strictly my choice. I didn’t have to make any decisions about what was in the “momwich” that is today. All I had to do was trust Him that the day He was giving me would be edible, er, livable no matter what….that He knew what He was doing.

Gotta love a good “momwich.”

2 thoughts on “Momwich

  1. My mom always made my sandwiches and new just how to fix them. The other kids never wanted to trade me for theirs because I loved Italian sandwiches she made. They did smell a little of that vintage Italian kitchen. I was always left to eat in peace but I was happy about that. They were always chuck full of all the best food I loved and enjoyed. I make my own sandwiches in keeping with the old tradition. I am an Italian foody.

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