This place wasn't a vibe. It wasn't an aesthetic. I wanted to take photos of it but not for social media—for myself. But I knew a photo couldn't capture the honest heat of the day, nor the broken sidewalk that forced us to walk in the road and grass. A photo also couldn't capture the time I was spending with daddy, and that was the best part.
I was returning to America the next day and wasn't expecting to spend the afternoon with him—that time was such a gift. As the oldest girl in the family, him and I always had a special bond. We could read each other well. We were a team. We could roast each other without the threat of hurt feelings. And, most of all, we love each other unsparingly. I could think of no better way to spend my last few hours in Grenada.
We sat in the small restaurant while the smell of the food torpedoed around us under two heavy fans overhead. The bench I sat on had a torn leather cover revealing the cushion underneath. The walls were painted in a cool shade of teal with accents of yellow. There was a chalkboard on the wall with the menu for the day written in large white letters. There were four tables, each topped with a colourful floral table cloth, then again with a plastic sheet.
What I loved about this place as I sat there, was that nothing matched and every colour, smell, and sound seemed to be yelling, not singing in a chorus. The floors, and tables, and benches, and even the waitress were all so different in feel and tone. But when I paused to take it all in, all I could feel was a sense of calm and peace. It was a simple lesson for me, one I was happy to experience again—sometimes the messiest places offer the most to your soul.
Sitting across from daddy, and beside my husband in that hot restaurant with the sound of cars speeding by and people talking outside, I felt the most peace I had in a long time. It felt like the restaurant was giving me the exact thing I'd needed and that generosity compelled gratitude.
So I ordered my oil down and coconut water and tried to take in as much as I could.
This moment in time will always have a foothold in my soul. I know this for a fact, even though it happened two days ago. That's because that restaurant and that day gave so much to me. It saw some of the little cracks at the bottom of my soul and filled it quickly. And that's honestly what home feels like. Grenada gives so much back when I feel like pieces of me are stolen when I am elsewhere. The island feels restorative and kind, like a nurse with plenty of time, one. who spares no cost to care for everyone in their charge. I can't go far without this place sending me a breeze, or a smile, or a howdy, or the awing sight of mountains just when I need it. I can't deny that God uses Grenada to heal in a way no other thing has.
Which is why so many stay and fill that place with joyful words of thankfulness and praise to God.
The oil down was perfect. Daddy gave it a 4.5/5 but that was honestly the highest grade that food was going to get anyway. I gave it a 5/5 and Phil looked content enough to fall asleep right where he sat. We talked about daddy's upbringing, his sisters, and some of his life as I took mental snapshots of his smile at various parts of his stories.
I promised myself to return next time with a mission to record his full life's tale to enjoy, selfishly.
After lunch, we started our journey out to the car when I noticed a pot of succulents thriving on the stoop. I bent over to touch a big one when the waitress walked out to see what we were so interested in. And just like that, she disappeared inside the restaurant, returned with a small bag, and plucked out a dozen small shoots for me to have. Almost no words were exchanged between us while she did this. And in her abundant kindness, I met God yet again that day. In her generosity, her hospitality, her care for us, I remembered the deep love Jesus has for me, that He would spare nothing to show His affection and give good gifts to me.
That trip to Grenville for oil down with daddy would be my last for the year, I knew that going in. But I'm excited to feel those memories blossom with the plants, for the heat of that place to wash over me from time to time, and for the taste of tumeric and pig tail to return to my tongue on good days and bad.
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