A Rhythm of Life

What I love most about returning to Italy is entering into its rhythm of life. When people ask me what draws me back, I try to explain that it is not simply family, the beauty, the food, or even the familiarity of home. It is the sense that life is properly ordered.

In fact, many of our families return to their home countries over summer holidays, Christmas, or Easter and they often express the same sentiment. There is something about the simplicity of a place where there are fewer options for doing and spending, fewer accepted interruptions to family time, that makes a tremendous difference in the rhythm of life.

I often find myself answering questions about the food—and rightly so. Italian food is sublime. But so are many traditional cuisines. Whether it is homemade Southern dumplings, hand-pressed tortillas, pan-fried Asian noodles, or a perfectly bubbling stew, homemade food—food that is part of our history—is always amazing, wherever we come from.

But delicious cuisine requires dedication. Dedication to making something tasty? Well, yes—but only in part. It requires something much deeper: a dedication to the belief that the meal still matters. That breaking bread together should be a central part of our day.

Jesus asked us to use the meal—the breaking of bread—to remember Him for important reasons. Not the least of these is that it would, and should, happen together and with frequency. It was meant to be a regular part of a healthy rhythm of life.

As I walk home from the bakery each morning during my time in Italy, I can smell lunch being prepared, wafting from balconies and open windows. Someone is taking the time to prepare something special for the people who matter most to them—something thoughtfully planned, with ingredients carefully chosen. And no doubt, when the meal is served, the table will be covered and set. Even if the tablecloth is faded and worn, that simple gesture quietly communicates the same belief: this is important. This is special. This is worthy of our time and enjoyment.

When I walk into our school staff room and smell leftovers warming, it makes me happy. Happy because someone cooked something special the night before. In today’s world, that can be a very difficult thing to do. So when it happens—when we can shift our schedules and make time for it—it should bring us joy.

It is a win.

Anytime we restore a rhythm of life that places family, nourishment, breaking bread together, and genuine connection at the forefront of our daily priorities, that is an accomplishment worth celebrating.

Perhaps that is one of the things I love most about hearing stories of time spent with older generations, both here and abroad: the food traditions we inherit. They remind us that the meal is about so much more than the food itself. It is about presence. It is about tradition. It is about gratitude. It is about generously giving and gratefully receiving. And it is a tradition worth preserving and handing down.

Buon appetito!

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