Saturday, January 31, 2004

They Broke Bread in Their Homes....

It feels great that someone understands why I get pleasure out of cooking. It's one way of using my gifts to craft something for others. It brings people together, gets them talking and making connections. It can set the stage for fellowship and camraderie.

My grandmother was terribly important to me, and I've missed her since she passed away close to 20 years ago, at age 91. She cooked cakes and pies for days before relatives came to visit, and she cooked up a storm on her beloved farmhouse wood stove once they were there...biscuits and gravy, country fried anything, vegetables cooked until they were the wrong green (to me), mashed potatoes, and eggs fresh from the henhouse. She canned her own garden fruits and veggies out of necessity, and because she thought fancy grocery stores were just too expensive. She ran a small cafe in the 1940s in the San Joaquin Valley, eventually going out of business because she kept feeding people who couldn't afford to pay. She was larger than life with a big outgoing personality; she knew everyone in town; she was a horrifying driver; she played the organ at church, and I dearly loved her.

I inherited her creative knack for cooking, and probably took it up in earnest in my 30s, after she died, as a way to remember and be more like her.

So it felt great to hear again from the pulpit the following verse from Acts 2:46..."They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all people."

Luke got it.

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