Encouragement
My house had been a wreck for weeks. My adjustment to “stay at home mom” was slow going at best. This was the second time I had chosen my children over my career and although I knew for certain it was the right decision I still suffered from terrible frustration. I never seemed to get much accomplished at home, usually opting for playing with my girls rather than cleaning my house. There were days where I still longed for the immediate gratification of completing a project at the office. This particular morning, however, I had managed to complete something at home. I had cleaned the kitchen enough to take joy in the accomplishment. The fifty-year old golden countertops were as clean as they could get given their age. The equally antiqued avocado green floors were even swept. My perfectly sized, four-person, white-tiled kitchen table was clear and it beckoned me for a little “fun-time in the kitchen” with my girls.
I always took pleasure in knowing I was the kind of mom that would let my toddler play in a bowl of dough on the floor or finger paint with pudding. Messiness is the key to creativity, and our oldest one has had her share of fun! Samantha Grace, at a wise age of 3 ½, has assisted me in many kitchen adventures. Her sister, Savannah Jolene, embarking on her sixth month of life has yet to enjoy the splendors of kitchen play. I figured there was no better time than the present to make a little mess and bond with my babies over the preparation of a home-cooked supper. David, better known as “Daddy”, does not get a good supper very often. More than half of supper usually comes from a box and unfortunately comes so late at night that he’s not hungry anymore. On this ambitious day we were going to fix supper early, as to have it ready upon his return from work. The chicken to be roasted was sitting in the fridge. The Yukon Gold potatoes were waiting on the counter, sure to provide great pleasure to the little girl who would get to mash them. The fresh snaps seemed like a perfect fit to finish off the meal.
I knew the snaps would take the longest to cook, if I wanted them soft and flavorful, so I placed a large pot of water (with salt pork of course) on the stove, being mindful of the temperature. David and I had been in the house months before we finally figured out how to tweak this wonderful appliance. The 1950 something, harvest-gold, Frigidaire stove was the best cooking stove I had ever used-once we mastered it’s peculiarities. For example, the oven runs about 25 degrees hotter than the dial, until you hit 350. Then it jumps to 50 degrees over. I ruined a lot of dinners and even more cakes before I gave in and bought an oven thermometer. One of the small burners on the stovetop heats up quicker than the other. The two large burners seem to get flaming hot in seconds. Unfortunately, they cool down just as quickly, making it difficult to keep large pots at a slow boil. This was to be my challenge later, when I added the beans to my now boiling stockpot.
With an invitation to assist Mommy, Samantha raced into the kitchen excitedly. I scooped up Jolene and placed her in her highchair. Her role was to be that of a cheerleader- moral support. Her Winnie-the-Pooh seat was the most top-of-the-line item in my kitchen. It’s reclining chair and multiple trays made it the one thing I wanted desperately for our new baby. It proved to be worth every cent. With just the small snack tray attached, and seat leaned to the most reclined position, Jolene perched a chubby little foot on the tray. She only sat upright long enough to fetch another “maashmallow” with her equally pudgy little fingers. Now, I’m sure at this point you’re wondering why a seemingly intelligent mother would feed her baby little puffs of sugar. All I can is sometimes it is okay to just keep the peace. It’s not like marshmallows were her only source of nutrition, sometimes she got Cheeto’s! Samantha had perched herself in her favorite chair, the one facing the door so she could see Daddy come home. Her curiosity bubbling over so vivaciously I had to giggle. I sat a large bowl in the center of the table, a good-sized bag of snaps between us, and pulled the garbage can up to the table.
“Mommy? Are those MY beans?” Sam asked.
Forgive me Lord, I prayed for I was about to lie to my own child. Her precious little bean sprouts, that she herself had planted, had yet to yield enough beans to feed a bug. We had taken the opportunity to show her how God helps the plants grow by giving us sunshine and rain. Her excitement grew everyday as she watched them stretch up towards the sun. Crushing her enthusiasm at this point would have broken my heart, so I lied.
“Yep, they sure are Doodle Bug!” I replied.
I quickly directed the conversation away from the origin of the beans by showing her how to snap off the ends and throw them in the bowl.
“Snap off their head,
Snap off their feet,
Throw ‘em in the bowl
So we can cook ‘em and eat!”
We sang our new bean snappin’ song cheerfully, while Jolene contented herself with another marshmallow. I withheld my laughter as best I could as I watched the garbage can get more of Samantha’s beans than the bowl. All that mattered was that she felt important to the process, and she did.
Fifteen minutes later, with over half of the beans still unsnapped, Jolene decided she needed a little extra attention. Samantha, whose gusto for snapping beans had waned about five minutes earlier, took the opportunity to be the good helper and jumped down to tend to her baby sister. She slid down off her perch and proceeded to run around the kitchen table. Jolene fell silent as she paused, interested in seeing what “Sissy” was going to do next. The pounding of Sam’s feet on the floor echoed behind me as she bounded for dear Jo Jo.
Then all was quiet, save the gentle rumbling of the stockpot and the gentle snap of the beans in my hand. I took a deep breath to aid me in enjoying that moment of peace. I felt certain that chaos would ensue at any time. Jolene was obviously tired of providing our moral support and Samantha’s quick decent from the table let me know that snapping beans had lost her interest. So much for a home cooked meal. In that split second of silence I managed to prematurely assume my plans were being thwarted by the short attention spans of my precious girls. I saw visions of chicken being served after dark, and a bowl of instant potatoes-long grown cold waiting for the bird.
It was in that moment that I heard it. I heard God. Gently at first, coming from behind me growing ever louder in my ears. The sweet, high- pitched voice was unexpected and paralyzing. I presumed God’s voice would be booming and deep, like thunder. Here in this sweet echo was God telling me how much he loved me. Reminding me how special I was to him. The sound filled my kitchen, now brighter and warmer, as he filled my soul with a confidence that I am a good person and a good mother in his eyes.
I turned slowly in my seat to where the sound was emanating only to find my children, laughing hysterically from the corner of my kitchen. Samantha had crept around to the back of Jolene’s highchair and begun a game of peak-a-boo. Their giggles, now becoming contagious, echoed out a reassurance only God can provide. That He has a plan for each one of us; and He has not left us to figure it out alone.
I could not tell you how long we were there, in that glorious moment. I can tell you that the chicken was roasted by five, and the potatoes were Yukon’s- not instant. The beans were the best I’ve ever cooked. Somehow the supper I wanted to prepare was a success. There were angels in my kitchen that morning, watching the stove and tending to the bird. I spent the rest of that day, and each day since then, trying to keep my two little blessings laughing.
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