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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Hope (05/04/06)

TITLE: Homemade Hope
By Ann Grover
05/10/06


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“Gramma, when is Mommy coming home?”

With an apron tied high around my middle, I was standing on a wooden chair by Gramma’s kitchen table, watching her roll out pie dough. Her deft movements were rhythmic, and I was mesmerized as the pastry stretched and grew.

“As soon as she feels better, love.”

“When will she feel better?”

“I don’t know.”

Every day, I asked Gramma the same question, and she gave the same answer. It seemed to me my mother had been gone for a very long time. She had become ill, and there had been anxious huddles with subdued whispers, along with furtive glances in my direction. Then, suddenly, she was gone, her woolen coat pressed against my cheek in a desperate, final crush.

Gramma flipped the pastry into the pie plate and then began to pare apples, the scarlet coils of skin spiraling from her knife. A clever woman was my Gramma. She gave me the first slice of apple, crisp and juicy, and tears welled up in my eyes as I nibbled from its tart-sweetness.

“What’s the matter, love?” Gramma leaned over and peered at me.

“I miss Mommy.”

“I know. We all do.”

“Why did she get sick and go away?”

Gramma crowned the hill of apples with a shower of cinnamon and sugar and began to roll out another circle of pastry.

“Sometimes things happen, love. Your mommy had to go away to get better and to keep you from getting sick, too.”

Gently, Gramma laid the top crust over the mound and began to flute the edges with nimble fingers. She dipped the pastry brush into a saucer of milk and handed it to me. I whitewashed the dough with a generous slathering, and then Gramma gave me the sugar shaker. Crystals rained down, over the pie, the table, the floor.

“Will she get better?”

“She will.”

“Are you sure, Gramma?”

“I’m sure.”

She quickly made slits, and lifting the pie with one hand, she turned and opened the oven door behind her with the other. I felt the oven’s heat, and when Gramma turned back to me, her face was flushed and rosy.

“How do you know?”

“Because God told me so.”

I pondered this revelation. I wondered if God came to visit Gramma at night, sitting on the edge of her bed, drinking tea and talking about roses and apples and my mother.

Gramma swept up the remnants of pastry with her hand, and I grabbed a scrap to eat.

“How did He tell you?” I asked as I chewed.

“Look outside. See the sun shining, just as it does every morning? That’s God’s way of telling me He’s faithful and that He’s caring for the people I love. It’s His way of giving me hope.”

“Oh.” My five-year old mind didn’t understand.

Gramma made a cheese sandwich for me and poured a glass of milk. She busied herself around the kitchen, wiping the table, filling the sink, and finally, making herself a cup of tea. Waves of spicy apple fragrance surrounded us and held us in its warm embrace.

“Doesn’t it smell lovely?” she asked as she sat back with her tea.

I nodded, sipping my milk as I imitated her. She sensed the question I didn’t know how to ask.

“Hope is not wishing for something, love. Hope is knowing. Remember the pie dough? It was a ball of flour and water. And the apples? What if I didn’t cut them up? What if I put everything in the pan like that? Would that make a good pie?”

I giggled, thinking of a pie piled with whole apples and lumps of pastry. Gramma was funny.

“But, if I roll out the dough and cut up the apples and bake it together with sugar and cinnamon, I am absolutely sure that we will have a delicious pie.”

I thought of the wonderful taste of warm pie, with whipped cream dolloped over the sugared pastry. My mouth watered in anticipation and I swallowed.

“See?” said Gramma. “You know. That’s hope, love.”

********

Not too many sunrises later, my mother did come home, healthy and whole, her lungs clear of the disease that had sent her away.

And as surely as the sun continues to rise, I have certain hope that Gramma is enjoying a cup of tea with God, and maybe even sharing a slice or two of apple pie.


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This article has been read 1168 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Liz Hoyt Eberle05/12/06
Truly well written. My 5 year old granddaughter is waiting at home with her mommy for her daddy to return from Iraq. Her second wait. Hope, faith and trust are hard for adults; I'm grateful my little one has a mommy who loves the Lord and gives my granddaughter reasons to trust her daddy's Father. Excellent story.
Jessica Schmit05/12/06
This was so sad. Very beautifully written.
Purity Snowe05/12/06
Very touching and extremely well written. I loved the images you painted. Looks like a winner here!
Maxx .05/12/06
Not only was this written expertly with perfect detail and feeling... it also made me hungry! ;-) Really not much at all to pick at. Every now and again the five year old rang a bit older and sophisticated than needed ... maaaaaybe. But, that's just my opinion. Such a minor nit pick that I don't think it will harm your march to the roses. This looks really strong!
Birdie Courtright05/13/06
Oh, this is beautiful. What a wonderful testimony you have and such a talent to convey it with.
Lynda Schultz 05/13/06
I love the way you rolled two stories into one (pun intended). Beautifully done and a wonderful definition of hope.
Cassie Memmer05/15/06
Sweet and well written! Like Maxx said, no nitpicking from me! Great job!
Linda Watson Owen05/15/06
Exquisitely told...brought back memories of being outside the tuberculosis hospital waiting for my dear mother and older brother to finish their visit with my father there. Dad died the same month I turned six. You're definitely a master of weaving an entrancing story, Ann.
Dr. Sharon Schuetz05/15/06
This is a beautifully written piece. It made me start wondering what kind of pie I have in the freezer. Loved it.
Rita Garcia05/15/06
Loving this entry. Good job, thank you for the blessing.
T. F. Chezum05/15/06
Very well written, great imagery. Very touching story.
Val Clark05/16/06
Yes, this story does pull at the heart strings, but it is also a beautifully written reminder of how important it is to be creative and use every opportunity to teach our children the ways of their Father.

Rachel Rudd05/18/06
This is a wonderfully sweet story. Congratulations on the win!
SYLVIA KING05/19/06
THIS IS A DELIGHTFUL STORY. YOU
DID AN EXCELLENT JOB.
Karen Treharne05/20/06
Very nicely written, Ann. I'm glad you rated as a winner. I love family stories as they always bring back happy memories to me. Most of my family is gone now, just my brother and I are left, so every time I read a touching story such as yours, my heart swells with joy. Congratulations and thanks. This was a true blessing to read.
Beth Muehlhausen05/22/06
Very REAL, believable, relational. I always enjoy eavesdropping on conversations between the very old and very young. :-)