For the Love of Chocolate
Every time I walk through a store and gaze landed on Silver Queen chocolates, I always stop. Silver Queen chocolate bars trigger a rather powerful memory for me. What’s funny is that the memory isn’t even mine. It belongs to my parents, but somehow the little bugger just stuck around with me. At least I don’t get all weepy every time I behold a Silver Queen chocolate bar. That would be awkward, don’t you think? Alright. In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to inform you that I have succumbed to temptation and is currently sitting on my bed, attempting to write, while eating chocolate. Just so you’re fully aware.
My mom was a medical student who was about to finish her degree when she met my dad at a prayer meeting. Having heard dad tell his side of the story, I’m trying to tell both sides of the story. My dad was an evangelist who just came back from a ministry trip. He somehow ended up at this prayer meeting sitting right across the room from my mom. Either he was full of the Spirit or was just being his confident Manadonese self, he leaned over to his friend and said, “I’m going to marry that girl.” Every time I hear this story, I always rolled my eyes at this. I don’t believe in love at first sight, so I don’t think that’s a good explanation for all that. I don’t have an explanation, just that I’m grateful it worked out for him. Purely from a selfish point of view.
I don’t think my mom had quite the same reaction. She had had a bad break up earlier that year, and she had an extraordinary encounter with Jesus. So I believe that her focus at that prayer meeting was actually on God. She did tell me, though, that she noticed my dad because he was “the” evangelist-preacher-sharer at the meeting. I’m guessing (you know, with his confidence and all) they struck a conversation after that. I didn’t really want to ask for details, for fear of cringe-worthy details. I do not need to know the pick up line my dad used on my mom. No, thank you.
What I did know, though, was the fact that my dad pursued my mom after that. He was quite relentless, which (again) I can’t help but be grateful for. He would pick up my mom at her campus, bringing with him a Silver Queen chocolate bar. Every. Single. Time.
The man was a genius. Apparently, he did his research. There was one way to my mom’s heart: chocolate. (Later on, we’ll discover that the list expanded to cheese and cheesecake. Yes, cheesecake is its separate category.) It worked.
Forty years later, here I am, writing this. I didn’t mistype. And I’m quite sure of my calculations. My parents waited a while to have me. You know, #thetravelingministerslife. You’re probably asking me why I’m writing about a chocolate bar.
First, I write about it because if you find me getting a bit more sappy, standing in front of the display of Silver Queen chocolates at a grocery store, you’ll understand the back story. I had a conversation just yesterday about missing my dad and the most random times. It’s true. Silver Queens remind me of my dad. They always will. I don’t particularly love them; I have my favorite chocolate brands. But this will always carry with it a reminder of a story I’m a part of. And I miss him.
Second, I write about this because quite a few people ask me what I expect in a man. Let’s be honest, I usually deflect that question. I tend to keep these things private and I like to keep what I share practical. Not currently dating, so I don’t talk about these things. Uh, no. I’m not suddenly sharing a long list of what I’m looking for in a man in this post. That would be scary. I just reflected on this whole Silver Queen story and realized that I want a man who would pursue me intentionally, and with absolute care. My dad valued my mom from the very beginning, and I saw him value her to the end. He had his struggles, and he had his flaws, but he loved her. I want a man who could make a simple, little thing like a cheap chocolate bar, into a lifetime of memories.
Or maybe I just want an excuse to sit here and eat chocolate.
Yep. That’s gotta be it.
Love always,
T.