Today's guest post is by Sherri Givens. Here, she shares the the reason behind her blog, Teaching My Boys To Cook.

“I do.”

“For as long as we both shall live.”

“It's a girl!”

“He looks like a tree.”

“Can I pway wif him?”

“Another boy?!”

These were the words that surrounded the forming of our family's first little community.

It began with a young man and woman who were nearly babies themselves.
Then a daughter.
And then three sons.

Everyone should get to grow up in a family. To be loved and adored from day one just for being there.

When I write in Teaching My Boys to Cook, I’m trying to do more than pass along a recipe. I’m celebrating my family and remembering the stories and events that have woven us together.

I have found over the years that food is a gathering tool. As peoples' bellies are filled with good food, so are their hearts and souls nourished for their journeys. If we come often enough to the table and stay long enough, stories will begin to be told. People will listen and share in the delight.

Or the struggle.

Whichever the case may be.

At our little table we've laughed till we've cried and cried till we’ve laughed. Both are important. Both are parts of life. Both connect us to each other with a shared history that is uniquely ours.

The beautiful thing is that there are as many stories as there are people. We can all gather at our tables, pass our plates, and speak into each others’ lives.

That's why I started this blog. I wanted to chronicle for my family the recipes and the history that tie us together. Our daughter’s name is omitted from the title because she is a far better cook than I and needs no lessons. Whereas I am obedient to steps and recipes, she dreams good things and creates them on her own. The blog is for all of them, my girl and my boys.

As our children grow up and move away from this little first community of theirs, they'll get hungry. Everybody does.

It is my hope that when they’re looking for something to cook, they'll browse their mom’s blog. When they read the familiar stories and smell the familiar smells and taste the familiar tastes, I want them to be reminded of all the meals around the oak table that Dad made for me as a wedding gift.

I want them to remember the stories we told and the things we did our best to teach them.

That they are loved with the perfect love of their good God.

That loving others well comes second only to loving their Creator.

That they need Him and that they need one another.

I want them to giggle out loud when they recall us telling the story again and again of the time I accidentally cut a reverse diagonal mohawk in Dad’s hair.

I want them to recall their manners and remember that their words have meaning.

I want them to hold dear the knowledge that they are known and cherished and always have a place at the table.