I started telling people a while back, I speak three languages. English, Spanish and sarcasm. But the older I get, I realize I actually speak four languages. English, Spanish, sarcasm and food.

Yes, I believe food is a language. A love language, at that. When spoken, it cannot be heard by the ear or responded to by the tongue, yet this love language of food needs no translation.

When guests come over, food says, “I am so glad you are here.”

When a loved one is sick, food says, “I hope this helps you heal, and I am thinking about you.”

When someone dies, food says, “I wish I could comfort you. I’m sitting with you.” (Job 2:13)

When there is cause for celebration, food says, “Congratulations! I am so proud of you!”

When you visit your grown children, food says, “I know you don’t need me as much anymore, but here are some meals for your freezer and some homemade jam.” Because who doesn’t still want their mom’s cooking?

Food is a language in which I am proficient. It was taught to me from my earliest memories; spoken to me by my mom and grandmothers.

Because of this, I speak food, fluently. I think you do, as well.

When we think about it, we learned to speak food before we learned to speak our native language. Our parents fed us, and we learned to eat and drink before we learned to speak.

One of my favorite scriptures is, “Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts,” - Acts 2:46 (NIV)

Eating together with glad and sincere hearts. This is a language our hurting world desperately needs for us to speak right now.