It was a small kitchen in a little white house where no one knocked, and everyone was welcome. My Mamaw Ene had the small, brown AM/FM radio playing Christmas music quietly while she hummed along and prepared to make dressing for our rather large family. She made the very best dressing around, and everyone looked forward to gathering in that house for Thanksgiving dinner.
It was warm (sometimes too warm), cozy, and full of love and laughter. No one cared that the furnishings weren’t up to Pinterest standards. I mean what was Pinterest back then anyway? No one cared that they might not get a seat at a table or might have to squeeze into a spot in the living room somewhere. It was just home, and wherever you landed would be fine, because you were there. Somehow all was just right in the world at Mamaw and Papaw’s, especially around the holidays.
I was their oldest grandchild and duly spoiled, as all their grands and great-grands were. I like to think it was just abundant love, and that love was abundantly reciprocated by all of us. We adored them and couldn’t wait to spend time at their house.
A few years before Mamaw was diagnosed with dementia, I began going to her house early on Thanksgiving Day so she could teach me to make “her” dressing. She would usually make the cornbread in advance and have everything ready to get to work when I arrived. We would chop the onion, crumble the cornbread, add all her other secret ingredients, and season it up. Just before adding the eggs, she would tell me to get a clean spoon and taste it. Yes, I said taste it, and it was yuck. But there was no way I could tell her no, so I tasted it every time. At first, I had no idea what I was tasting for. She would have to taste it and make the expert decision of what was missing, but over time, she trained my palette to be able to taste it too.
Looking back, I can see how she trained my palette in many ways when I didn’t even recognize it at the time. She trained me to sit up straight, act like a lady, be myself, laugh and enjoy the little things, focus on the important things, and most importantly, love Jesus. And how did she do it? By tasting it too and guiding me step-by-step until I could taste it for myself.
So, this Thanksgiving, let us take the time to love and invest in others. Let us walk alongside someone and pour the love of Jesus into their lives one spoon at a time. We don’t have to have the biggest house, nicest kitchen, or newest outfit to make an impact on those around us. I’m trying to remind myself of that because it’s easy to get caught up in the wrong things.
Let’s get back down to basics and be who we are called to be right where we are. My prayer is that those in my life will feel the love of Jesus in my home and in my presence as much as I felt the love of Jesus around my Mamaw Ene. I will never make dressing as delicious as hers, but I will always make it with her, and that yucky batter taste, in mind. I think that would make her smile.
O taste and see that the Lord is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him! (Psalm 34:8)
