Growing up, my dad made me milk toast when I was sick. This consisted of two slices of toasted Mrs. Baird’s bread torn up and placed in a big bowl, then covered with warm milk sweetened with sugar. One pat of butter went on top to add a little extra richness. Milk toast was my dad’s way of acknowledging my illness and bringing a little comfort. I would sit in bed with a TV tray across my lap, and he would place the bowl on the tray. Then he’d sit and talk to me until I was finished eating.

Pure love – simple and true.

Tonight, I toasted two pieces of whole wheat bread, tore them into pieces, tossed them into a big bowl, and added heated milk with honey. No butter for me, but still very satisfying.

It was as though my daddy was sitting right there while I ate.

Pure love – timeless and true.

Love spans decades, perhaps even eons.

What a great comfort that is to know.

Sleep well, my friends.

Until tomorrow…