Photo by The Matter of Food on Unsplash
All four of our adult children practice a particular ritual around evening mealtime: peak and pit.
They didn’t inherit it from my husband and me, although we always begin meals with grace and a message of giving thanks. During Avent and Lent, those prayers sometimes took on added meaning. Perhaps those were the seeds our children used to grow something of their own.
The ritual is simple and steeped in gratitude, learning, and growth mindset. Each person shares a peak – something that went well during the day, and a pit - something that was challenging, difficult or disappointing. My husband calls these “LO’s” (learning opportunities).
It's fun to listen and relate to what each family member highlights from their day. There's no need for commentary or advice, just presence and acknowledgment so that their day’s joys and troubles can be held in a circle of care and love.
It's a way of being seen. A way of belonging.
As soon as the little ones have mastered enough words to contribute, they take a turn. Whatever a 3-year-old offers, I find myself left with feelings of joy, warmth, and radiance. Hearing their delights reflect the purity of their hearts.
One family has made a small yet meaningful change: peak and pit has become peach and pit.
That one-word shift opens up a whole new image for me. The peach is life’s sweet, juicy harvest. The pit is hard, stubborn, seemingly impenetrable. Easy to enjoy one and resist or throw out the other.
Yet it is the pit that holds the possibility of another harvest.
Think about it for a moment. There's latent, dormant wisdom in a peach pit. Unassuming on the surface, giving little indication of what it carries. Yet under the right conditions, with attention, care, and trust in nature's divine timing, the pit cracks open. What once seemed hard and closed sprouts, blossoms and perhaps with patience and time yields more peaches.
Could it be that some of our most difficult experiences are like that? In their messy middle we may feel only the hard and stubborn aspects. It may take time and patience to discover a deeper meaning hidden latent within the challenge.
Sometimes, around the dinner table, all we need is for someone to hear that it was hard. No fixing required. It is the circle of care itself that makes growth possible.
The peaches deserve their moments too. The sweetness of life needs savoring so the delight can link into the recesses of our reward systems.
I’m grateful our children and their families have created dinner table environments for both the delights and the disappointments. Shared in tandem, they tell the full story of a day and of a life well lived.
Peach or pit?
I’ll have a serving of both please.
In-joy your peaches (and pits too).