A colleague stopped me in the hallway. “Gretchen, glad I caught you! I’ve been invited to make dessert for the gathering this week, and I wanted to check with you,” she said.
Before she finished speaking, I knew exactly what she wanted to check: my food allergies. Those who know me well know I would rather eat before or after a gathering than make anyone do extra work for me. I usually cut off any offers, perhaps a bit too quickly sometimes, with, “Don’t worry! I’m all good. Please make what works for the whole group.”
I opened my mouth to say just that, but she kept on going before I could. “I’m going to make you something you can enjoy, but I wanted to check first: is it just gluten or dairy too that you can’t have?” The direct yet enthusiastic way she asked the question made me pause. She seemed so excited about the possibility of making something for me that I simply answered, “Both.” She smiled in response, asked a couple more questions about my favorite treats, and then walked away.
The next day she brought me two chocolate-chip cookies in a plastic bag. “I cleaned my counters and dishes before beginning and made sure all my ingredients were gluten and dairy-free. Will you try these at some point? If you like them, I’ll make more for the gathering.” This time, I felt obliged to say, “This is great, but please know you can just make something the whole group would like.” She smiled and said, “Don’t worry; I’m doing that too!”
I have to admit, the cookies were delicious, and when my colleague brought more to the gathering later that week, I definitely ate my fill. It was nice to have a dessert there I could eat, but that’s not what stood out to me most about that interaction.
It was the intentional way in which my colleague performed this small act of kindness.
First, she listened. Before she approached me, she already knew the basics of what I could and couldn’t eat, because she had listened to me during our previous conversations and remembered even the smallest details of what I had said.
Next, she asked questions. She sought more information in a way that was inviting and showed excitement about something that is not always fun to talk about: food allergies.
Then she did her research. She looked up feasible ingredients to make cookies, not from a designated allergy-free pre-made cookie dough (like I often use for myself), but from scratch! She even looked up how to make her kitchen allergy-friendly!
Finally, she adapted her plans to account for me. She did not leave out everyone else by doing so but made room for me to feel included too. She also did so subtly at the gathering itself, simply offering two plates of treats for dessert to everyone so I didn’t feel singled out.
This experience served both as a good reminder and a point of inspiration for me. It reminded me that though I was made aware through the graces of the Spiritual Exercises that every part of me is cherished and loved by God, I am still embarrassed by some parts of myself and still have some work to do. This experience also inspired me to work on paying it forward. I am trying to listen more attentively when others offer me pieces of who they are in conversation, ask questions with interest about those pieces, do my own research so I can understand them better, and find intentional ways to adapt my plans so all may feel included.
That was lovely, Gretchen! Years ago, when I was temporarily on an elimination diet, a friend in our discussion group did something similar for me. So thoughtful, it really touched me. Thank you for sharing your colleague’s careful attention to your needs without making a fuss about it.