No Fishy Tale

After my three sons' seventh or eight birthday parties, the rituals of our small family have always been spartan, if not austere.

This no-frills tone must have been set at our wedding moons ago.  I wore a pant suit (the trend in those days) and something on my head, which was too puny to be called a bridal veil. I held a yellow rose instead of a bouquet. Although Tony and both our dads wore coat and tie, they couldn't wait to take them off after the 15-minute ceremony.

The 12 people in church, immediate members of our families, then proceeded to a Chinese restaurant for an informal, noisy lauriat.

Many years later, what does a couple, who prefers shorts to slacks and an intimate supper to a formal dinner, do to celebrate a wedding anniversary?
Have fish—in a neighborhood Taiwanese restaurant with the only son (two now live abroad) left in the household, JC. 

Why fish?

Why not? 

Whenever I have fish for a meal, I am always reminded of that early morning on the beach long ago when Jesus, who had just risen from the dead after being violently crucified by Romans, peacefully cooked fish over charcoal fire for his disciples, who were out fishing.   

The disciples caught no fish, so Jesus told them to go back and cast their net again. So they did and tons of fish they could hardly haul filled their net!

Coming back to the shore, they found breakfast waiting—fish. Then the King of kings, Lord of lords, Creator of all, served the fish He himself cooked to these ordinary earthlings who couldn't even catch one fish on their own.  It this didn't actually happen, it would make a fishy tale.  But it is as true today as it was then.

God's kindness, love, and compassion are real in our daily lives.

And so three other mortals in modern era (Tony, JC, and I), who were celebrating a milestone, chose their main course—a live fish from a tank.  It was then cooked by some unknown chef in the kitchen, served, wolfed down, and gone.

It was a simple ritual of celebration.

No fancy clothes, no orchestra, no party organizers, no flowers, no glam nor glitz, no scripts, no guests.  Just an old (odd?) couple, a grown-up son—and the overwhelming presence and grace of the One who cooked fish over fire on a beach in days of old.