Repost (with a few added pictures) from November 2018
It’s hunting season at my house and for my three hunters it was an early start to their day. Several hours and two bucks later, they came bounding in with stories and hungry bellies. I offered to cook a large breakfast, which as my family will attest, is a rarity. In fact, it only happens about once a year, on Christmas Day.
Today is not Christmas, which is why my offer was quickly taken. So it began— I cooked the bacon, the hash brown casserole was baking, the biscuits were in the oven, eggs scrambled, and now it’s time to make the gravy. Making gravy has never been my forte’. In fact, most of the time I’m straining the lumps out, or trying to remedy a skillet full of flour and milk gone astray. Luckily my husband never complains and breakfast is gobbled up.
But this morning as I whisked the flour with the milk, it just happened. Gravy! It was really good gravy, the kind like my dad used to make. Growing up, my dad was our gravy maker. I can still see mom working away in the kitchen, but as she finished things up she’d call to my dad saying it was time to make the gravy. The last time I remember him making gravy at our family gathering he sat on a stool in front of the stove because his legs would no longer allow him to stand. Since his passing nearly 3 1/2 years ago, I cannot make gravy without thinking of him.
I remember people telling me early on that grief would come in waves and come at the most random of times. I can say for myself that has been true. This morning as I prepared breakfast while listening to the soft music playing in the background, that wave of grief washed over me. As I stirred the gravy, the faint music became perfectly clear as I heard the artist singing “Can you hear the angels sing glory to the light of the world.” There it was, a gentle reminder of Jesus, and all that He means to me. As I looked down at that nearly perfect skillet of gravy, I found myself missing my dad so much.
I couldn’t help but think how proud my dad would be of this gravy. (For his four children, making dad proud has become a lifelong endeavor.) But as the music played on, I felt completely overjoyed at all that my Heavenly Father has done for me. Making Him proud is a lifelong endeavor too. I’m reminded that my life, just like lumpy gravy, is in need of some straining. But even greater still, as those words in that song remind me, “the light of the world” has come and because of that, I rejoice! Because of Him, I am redeemed. I’m reminded that God is good.
So, In this month of Thanksgiving, I’m so grateful for a mother who exemplifies God’s goodness every single day, a husband and two kids that sustain me, and an extended family that I adore.
But today, I’m thankful for gravy. Gravy that required no straining, or modifying, just really good gravy like my dad made.
My sisters trying to school our brother in gravy making.
