Mother’s Biscuits

It may seem somewhat strange, but I enjoy walking through old cemeteries and reading the headstones. I love to find the oldest grave and imagine what was going on at that time or what it may have looked like around the area.

I was doing just this with a good friend of mine awhile back. We were admiring a beautiful old church and passed by its’ cemetery, in the courtyard. I read an epitaph, from the 1800’s, it stated, “Gifted with a brilliant mind yet she confined her mental gifts to the making of a home with wonderful tact and talent. She was a Christian woman.”

To me, no finer words could be spoken over a wife and a mother. She knew where she was needed most and although she apparently was gifted at many things, she guarded her time and made sure her family came first. Stability for her family was more important than her talents.

My mother confined many of her talents in the same manner. She taught me the value of keeping things constant; like familiar things I could always count on. Although simplistic in nature, their value to me is incomparable. Sweet tea was always in the refrigerator, pecan pie was served at Thanksgiving, cornbread went with her vegetable soup, and mother’s biscuits are still something to write about.

I can see her making these biscuits as if I were right there with her. Flour covers everything, including her. The recipe is so old it’s more like a suggestion than a recipe. When she taught me to make them it was, “A handful of this and a pinch of that.”

She prepares her dough then sprinkles flour on the counter so she can pat it out by hand. Then she cuts out perfect circles with her forty-year-old tomato paste can, better known as “Mom’s Biscuit Cutter.” Pampered chef hasn’t made an equal. After she cuts out her biscuits, she lays them in her iron skillet, flipping them on both sides so they are nicely coated with oil (this is not a subscription to nutrition monthly). She then slides them into the oven where the magic takes place.

Homemade biscuits were always served on Sundays with roast and potatoes and occasionally on Saturday mornings with a big breakfast. The biscuits weren’t too big so we could always have two without feeling guilty! A light crunch followed the first bite while a soft and warm inside finished it off. Butter and homemade jelly made a perfect match for the light and flaky biscuit.

I don’t know if her biscuits would win any awards anywhere other than at her own kitchen table, but they are enjoyed by all our family and friends.

Chuck and I knew there was going to be a lot of uncertainty tangled up in absolutes during our transition process. We knew we were going to have to forge ahead even with a lot of unanswered questions. Faith will require trust when many of the answers you’re seeking are still unknown. It is only in the soil of uncertainty that faith is truly tested.

In the midst of an empty house and with all our life’s precious memories packed away in boxes, I felt as if our family was losing sight of who we were. The process was taking longer than expected, fifteen months, longer than expected. Seeing the excitement on the new owners faces only disheartened us more because we had no clear direction or destination. They had closure. We, on the other hand, were just beginning.

We moved from our lovely home to a thirty-one-foot camper that possessed one problem after the next. As time marched on, we had to make yet another move, an in-law suite apartment, while we continued to await the final word for our new destination.

At three-years-old, Eva’s entire world was changing drastically. She found mommy and daddy as the only constant in her little life. She was such a trooper through the entire saga. Even so, I began to notice everywhere we went, she would cling to me and didn’t want me out of her sight. Places she once loved she no longer wanted to be without daddy or me. I started connecting the dots and quickly realized I needed to create an atmosphere that reminded her of home. I needed “Mother’s Biscuits.”

I can look back and see the comfort and security simple constants produced in my life. Not that biscuits have created stability for me but what they symbolize has. I now needed to do the same for Eva.

I set to work immediately by taking pictures I had on our refrigerator at our first house and put them on the camper refrigerator. I also took her art work and hung it up all over the wall. I found a few picture frames in storage and placed them around as well. We also set TV trays up as our kitchen table and we all sat lined up on the couch together, with a few sarcastic jokes thrown in about the current situation.

We began to leave a trail that marked familiar in Eva’s life. Safety is found in the simplicity of constancy.

Every child needs a true North. Without it you cannot determine the other cardinal compass points.

It is said that the pioneers, who headed out west in the wagon trains, pointed their wagons toward the North Star at night, so in case, when they woke in the morning and it was cloudy, they knew which way was west, even in a sea of grass.

Leave a compass for your children, a true North, so when they wake up on cloudy mornings, they will know which way is home.

“And you will hear a voice behind you saying, this is the way, walk in it.” Isaiah 30:21

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