Biscuits

Those who know my mom have probably had her marvelous biscuits but you may not know about the best ones she ever made.

I was entering the 6th grade. Things were tough financially so we had moved into a farmhouse in East Texas. It was a year of eating lots of beans. Dad had to work long hours on a low paying job. So low paying that he taught me how to hunt, kill and clean rabbits and squirrels for our meat. I should probably add here that I have never even once thought of ever doing those things again. Meat comes to me in packages the way God intended.

The farmhouse had a fireplace in the living room where all five of us kids slept on the really cold nights. It was my job to have enough firewood cut and ready for those cold nights. And there were times when I did not bring in enough. Mom would send me back out in the middle of the night to get more if we ran out. I would take my dog, my flashlight, and my axe and go try to find a fallen tree that I could cut up. The cold was brutal. I remember one particularly cold night when I had such a hard time finding enough wood. I was so cold and so tired when I finally had enough and was able to lay back down. The next morning I woke up to the smell of Mom's biscuits. Mom had made biscuits from water and flour and she had made syrup with sugar and water. Maybe my best meal ever.

Now when I think about how she survived those days…. scratching meals together…chasing snakes off the back porch…coming face to face with a half-breed bobcat on the same porch…all the pressures and demands that came with 5 children, an angry and disillusioned husband, and we never missed a meal.

Two weeks before Mom left for heaven I had called her and told her that I would be at her house every Tuesday morning at 7:30 for breakfast. The next Tuesday she made a big pan of her wonderful biscuits. She invited my sisters over…it was a great morning. The next Sunday she got dressed for church but instead went into the hospital. I got to talk with her after she was checked into the emergency room. She looked so good. She was excited about the coming Tuesday. I told her she did not have to go all out every Tuesday...she said "Okay" but I knew she would anyway. We talked that day about how God is our friend.. She said "He is...He really is my friend." Then they came to take her for some test. I would never hear her sweet loving voice again…there would be no more Tuesdays. I know that God gave me one last breakfast with my Mom…one last really good conversation in the ER…He was paving the way for me to handle what was coming.

I visited her the next Wednesday night. She did not look good. I went home very unsettled. I told my wife “she will not be coming home.” And I spent some time in a deep sadness. I didn’t know why I felt that way but now I know it was God again preparing me.

The next morning I went by to see her before I went to work. But instead of a visit I was suddenly standing by her bed…telling her I loved her…I know she could hear me…her heart was slowly giving up…my sisters and other family rushed to be with us…we sang to her…her breathing heavy…and then…she left for heaven. I stood by her bed for a long time…I held her lifeless hand…it was amazingly soft…I thought of all the things those hands had done for me…I don’t remember ever having held my moms hand…maybe they were always busy… I miss her this morning…I’m so glad she feels no more pain…but I want to talk to her today… sadness has settled over me…I want to have biscuits with her…this friend of God.