Six green beans—seriously? Supper is finished and I’m staring into a pan of six green beans. What am I suppose to do with six green beans? I find the smallest container I have and put them in the refrigerator knowing they’ll eventually end up in the trash. I know for many, this is not even a dilemma, but as the daughter of someone raised in the Post Depression Era, deciding what to do with those six green beans, causes me a little bit of anxiety.
My mom went “green” long before going green was even a thing. Her conservation efforts had less to do with the planet and more to do with survival. As a young girl, she spent many days in the field with a large heavy canvas sack strapped to her chest. Picking cotton was her family’s livelihood. Participation was not optional, no matter your age.
It was a time in history absent of abundance. “Waste not, want not” was more than a mantra, it was a way of life. It became ground into the very fabric of who she was. It wasn’t some sort of mission statement her family decided to live by, life circumstances chose it for them.
This way of life also became the framework with which our mom raised me and my siblings. She became a partner to my dad and chose to make his life’s work, hers too. And while the work was different from day to day, those days weren’t wasted, as most of them were spent together as a family.
Part of our family’s work was taking care of cattle. The chores that came with that were plentiful, and included harvesting our own hay. It also meant our freezers were always full. We had a large garden and dad’s hobby orchard which, when combined, provided endless hours of work.
Mom prepared meals for all six of us. In those days you didn’t pull a box of cereal out of the cabinet for breakfast. With few exceptions, we all sat down at the table together three times a day. I remember lots of prayers and fun, lively conversation as we gathered around mom’s table. One of her favorite things to do was clean out the refrigerator, in fact she could make a meal out of it. Leftovers totally counted, making sure nothing went to waste.
I also recall hearty meals of fried chicken and all the fixings. Before the days of purchasing a bag of frozen chicken breasts, mom always bought a fresh whole chicken and would cut it up while standing at the kitchen sink. We would sit down to supper and mom would reach for the chicken neck (as if someone else would want it). “I really like the neck,” she would assure us. She probably convinced herself that she did, because she couldn’t convince herself to throw it away.
I remember days spent working in our family’s equipment business and nights spent tending the land. Summers were particularly busy. If we weren’t in the hay field, we would head to the garden or the orchard and gather what had ripened that day. And with that, our evening work would begin. Mom would be the last one in the kitchen standing over a hot stove as she waited for that last mason jar lid to seal. Somehow in the pace of it all, she gave us deep roots and solid wings. Roots and wings that we each carry with us today.
As the youngest, my older siblings would say that I had it easier. And I’d agree. I remember fussing about plenty. I’d fuss about washing tin foil and bread bags. I’d also fuss about having to wear those same bread bags over my boots in the winter, safely secured with a rubber band at the top. Mom wasted nothing.
Now, as a grown woman with grown children of my own, I don’t fuss about washing tin foil anymore. I throw it away. In my early married years, I delighted in crumpling it up and throwing it in the trash. But now with a little more grey in my hair, I hesitate just slightly as I know mom still washes hers. And in my head I think “waste not, want not.”
I’m so glad that my children know her. And love her. Mom’s table looks a little different these days with eleven grandchildren and three great grandchildren gathered ‘round. When we’re together, we usually enjoy a good laugh at her “saving” antics. Luckily she’s a good sport and laughs right along with us. Her shelves are neat and tidy, but they are full! If you ever need a stack of cardboard Velveeta box bottoms, she’s your girl! We’ve suggested that she might have taken this a little too far.
Recently, my niece spent a couple of weeks with my mom and confirmed that not much has changed, although mom will say that she’s “getting better” (at throwing things away). In fact, we’ve decided that expired food has become her “specialty.” If you find yourself there for a visit, I’d suggest you answer carefully if offered a can of peaches or a scoop of ice cream. The chances are great that the expiration date passed many months ago. Mom’s not going to waste anything.
Mom has also spent a lifetime storing things up that really do matter. Beyond her washed bread bags and creased tin foil, a treasure of great price is nestled deep in her heart. Even greater still, she’s not just storing up, she’s living it. My mom is as humble as they come. Her treasure has never been in her earthen vessel, nor vain practice, nor material things. I think of 2 Corinthians 4:7 which reminds me that we are like clay jars in which treasure is stored.
She knows the value of a life spent serving her Creator. For my mom, that was manifested in the way she served her husband and us children. She’s rock solid. When I’m in her presence, I feel centered, shored up. Just like I do when I’m in His presence.
Several years ago, we lost our dad very suddenly. It is a moment that changes you forever. I have watched my mom deal with that loss too, and what I see amazes me. She has grieved his death in the most godly way. It has been one of the more faith affirming things I have witnessed her doing. And again I am reminded, mom wastes nothing, not even her grief.
That young girl who spent her days picking cotton, lives in a very different world today. She enjoys life at a slower pace and is reaping the fruits of many years of hard work. I see the beauty in her silver hair and in her hands marked by a lifetime of duty. I am so glad I get to call her mine. More than anything else, I’m grateful for the treasure housed within.
