If you’ve peeked inside the pages of Easter Love Letters from God. you’ll have seen this:
These words won’t make sense to anyone who doesn’t know me well. But my family, my close friends, and my four brothers and three sisters know only too well who the ‘Secret Supper’ maker was…
Let me take you across the Atlantic Ocean, almost fifty years ago, to a red brick home in northern England, where I grew up with my seven siblings…
It is Winter. I am ten years old.
The nights are long and dark, but Dad knows just how to cheer me up.
Who’s ready for an SS? he asks.
We all cheer and a plate is produced with a quarter of a buttered Eccles Cake, a small piece of Kit Kat, half a Bourbon biscuit and a cup of Ovaltine. This is our Secret Supper, a treat reserved for nights when my siblings and I need cheering up.
When those nights get really long and dark, my dad upgrades our suppers to an SSS… a Special Secret Supper, or even our very favorite…an SSSS, a Super Special Secret Supper.
As I nibble at the edge of my biscuit, I am reminded what a Super Special dad I have.
And now, almost five decades later, I wonder how my dad managed to produce that little plate of cheer from empty cupboards.
And perhaps, as I was writing Easter Love Letters from God and searching for unique and evocative titles for each chapter, it’s only fitting that I should use a little of my dad’s creativity and use this title for the story of the last supper…
My dad will never know that I dedicated this book to him. He died before it was published. He’ll never read the story of The Secret Supper, but I can see him smiling at the title, and encouraging me to be the best writer I can be.
His legacy lives on.