Family

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My loving, caring wife made Chicken Dumplings the other night for supper. As soon as I walked in the door, the aroma was filling the entire house. I went immediately to the stove and in one of our large, stainless steel pots I found the source of my drooling-Chicken Dumplings.
When chicken is in soups, dumplings, boneless or in casseroles I will eat my fill; but do not feed me fried chicken. Several reasons prevail to satisfy the curious who wish to know why I will not eat chicken on the bone, but suffice it to say, I cannot do it.
As a Southern Baptist pastor this problem has caused a flurry of questions and comments. One church member demanded to see my credentials, because he had never met a preacher who did not like fried chicken. Then there was the member who was downright offended when I told him, “Honestly, I believe I am a Church of God, cause I like steak and luxury sedans.”
Growing up, I ate my fair share of chicken in the fried variety. It was in my late teens that fried chicken lost all appeal to me and I completely turned away from it, but never to hurt someone’s feelings, I would eat whatever was offered and nibble at the fried variety.
During a conversation with a friend a few weeks ago, we were telling tales. Then he confessed that he was well into the late teens before he realized that a chicken had more parts than the pulley bone and the neck bone.
When I asked why, he proceeded to share his sad story growing up. Evidently, he was somewhat abused, in my way of thinking. He said that on Sunday’s his parents would invite the preacher and his family for dinner. It was the rule that the adults ate first and then the children got what was left. He said, with great disdain, the preacher, his wife and his parents left a few pieces of chicken and it was always the neck and pulley bones.
I really felt sorry for him. Evidently, my grandparents were much better to us grandchildren than his parents were to him. My Granny would not only invite the preacher and his family-which consisted of him, his wife, and three or four children (I think preachers back then took seriously God’s command to go and multiply the earth)-but also there would be other family members and their children.
Granny would take all us children to the table, help us fill our plates and then serve us sweet tea in the living room or on the back porch and then the adults would run for the table. When it was time for seconds, we would quietly enter the Dining Room and reach between one of the adults to retrieve whatever we were looking for and sometimes they would stop long enough from their talking or gnawing a bone to help us.
By the way, there was a reason everyone congregated at Granny’s table on Sunday’s to eat and talk. Granny was the finest cook in Lawrence County. Her fried chicken was never greasy, her vegetables were fresh from her garden, her pies were made with hand rolled crust and her tea was the sweetest in the south. Do not get me wrong, this is not just a basis assessment by a close relative.
When Granny passed away, several years ago, she had requested that I help Bro. Elmer conduct her funeral. I remember he said, “Mrs. Della Mae was the finest cook that ever lived in Lawrence County.” He should know because he put several chickens, over a lifetime, in an early grave by eating at the table of my Granny.
When I think of Granny, I always think of the Proverbs 31 woman. Solomon, in training his son, tells him that the woman who tends to the home, takes good care of the household needs, and watches after the children-just to name a few-is to be highly praised.
The wise King said, “Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord will be praised. Give her the reward of her labor, and let her works praise her in the city gates.” (Proverbs 31:30-31 HCSB)
I believe this is the truth! But when we apply it to all believers, we see that there is an act of kindness, both within the home and without that reflects the deep trust and faith we have in God, who loves us more than life itself.
Anytime Granny knew we were coming for a weekend visit, she would prepare a chocolate pie for me and my brother and an apple pie for daddy. Then she would sit on the front porch and wait on us.
I sure do miss those simple days.

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