Mom Clark

My grandmother was an amazing woman. She raised eight children and ran a home without the conveniences of modern appliances – no washer, no dryer, no dishwasher or even disposal in the sink. Everything was negotiated by hand. In addition, she provided three meals a day, made from scratch. Looking back I think she was able to do more things and manage more schedules than any CEO of a 500 Company. What’s more, she was a cornerstone at her church, one of those faithful souls who did jobs that no one else seemed to want to do – keeping the nursery during church service, cleaning up the kitchen, volunteering for all those many occasions that marked Baptist life fifty years ago. In fact, when she passed away, her pastor, a rather stern individual not given to sentimentality, openly wept at her funeral. People were amazed and I was moved at realizing what a model of faith my grandmother was.

She played an instrumental part in my rearing. I spent a lot of nights in her home, sitting out on the front porch and hearing stories of the family and opinions of politics and other things. She shaped my faith in many ways, telling me stories of the Bible with her own interpretations. She was especially good on heaven, making me realize that it was more than angels plucking their harps on clouds overlooking golden streets. I remember on one occasion she was talking me about heaven and she leaned into me and said, “Don’t remember how I look; remember how I sound.” I must have looked confused. She went on, “When I get to heaven, God is going to give me a new body that will replace this old thing that I’m wearing now. I’m going to look 21 again, but even better!” While I didn’t understand all of the nuances of that then, I never forgot her words.

She was a wonder in so many ways, but her work in the kitchen can only be described as amazing. In fact, I would go so far as to describe it as an “amazing grace.” She spent most of her day in the kitchen, preparing breakfast to get people off to work and school, lunch for everyone who came home, and then the evening meal. The meals were not of the Martha Stewart collection. It was primarily the basics, with several meals being red beans and rice and rolls. (The rolls, by the way, were homemade and would melt in your mouth.) But what I remember most is how, after everyone was served, she would take her place just off the main table, grab a bowl for herself and sit back and enjoy her family. I remember her commenting one day, “This is the best part of the day for me. Sitting back and watching my family be family.”

That is where the grace comes in. There is something divine about putting a meal together that puts a family or group together. I have discovered that again here in Baton Rouge. As we have been moving in, various neighbors have dropped by to introduce themselves by bringing one of their delectable staples for us to enjoy. The food has been delicious, but the thoughtfulness even more so. I can’t wait for our pots and pans to get unloaded so that we can return the favor and become even more a part of the neighborhood family. You might think of someone who needs to be fed today – physically and spiritually. It is amazing what a few morsels of food does for the soul!