Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist asked for more: “Please, sir, I want some more.” More of gruel, a thin, lackluster, watery porridge that was made by boiling grain in water.
This gruel doesn’t sound appealing or tasty at all. Why did he want more of it? Because he was hungry and tired of not getting enough sustenance every day.
I, too, have begged with a bowl and asked for more. More of tepid love, more of the same lukewarm care. Because I was starved like Oliver.
Now, I’m learning to make my own soup that’s more than just watery porridge. A thick, grainy, buttery soup that’s akin to love and care.
