On Food, Faith, and Being Called

Could I have done more? Yes. Can you do more? Probably.

I guess I was in college when it started. Mamaw had never loved baking; she was good at it, yes, but she really only did it because well, that was how one got cakes and pies and cornbread and cookies. Frugal to the point of being tight, she couldn’t abide paying extra for something she could make cheaper at home. So she passed by the aisles of Little Debbies and Moon Pies, and went home and made Icebox Cakes and shortbreads.

But age did catch up with her. There came a time when hoisting a hot cast iron skillet out of the oven wasn’t as easy as it once was. Standing for long periods made her hip ache. She had never owned a stand mixer, and eventually that hand mixer hurt her wrist with its jumps and vibrations and jostling. Time in the kitchen started to slip.

I noticed it first when a massive cardboard canister of iced tea mix showed up on the counter top, wedged beside the avacado green plastic Tupperware flour and sugar containers.

“What’s this?” I asked. Mamaw had always sworn by sitting her tea in the sun for brewing. In fact, a big glass pitcher lived on top of the grill lid for just this purpose.

“It’s so much faster. And I never run out now. If Papaw wants sweet tea brought down to the field with his lunch, I can just mix it up right there in the jar and put some ice in it.”

The stuff was sickly sweet, and smelled off—especially given the sulphur in their well— but it became the norm. When she passed, a big old canister of mix, only a quarter used, was among the random things that went into the trash as her kitchen was empty.

Shortly after the ice tea mix, the snack cakes came. These didn’t require any mixing or lifting, and stored neatly in little plastic wrappers until they were wanted. Honey Buns, Ding Dongs, and Sno Balls were now stored in the cabinet, where they didn’t go stale and were on hand whenever the mood struck.

By the time I put in my four years and was handed my degree, Mamaw’s kitchen had undergone a clear change. While the meals were still fresh, homemade, and sourced from the farm or someone else’s land nearby, the “extras” came from the boxes pulled from the grocery aisles. And it didn’t take long for the effects to be seen.

Both Mamaw and Papaw began putting on weight. Two things were happening at the same time, and it played out at what felt like warp speed: they were slowing down physically, ending a lifetime of intense labor, and they were eating junk at the same rate they had eaten good, whole foods. Within a handful of years, they were both seeing doctors for blood sugar issues, high blood pressure, and chronic health concerns.

I share all of this for a few reasons. Number one, I want to speak of the power we have as women who guard the table of our homes. What we put on that table matters. It matters a lot. In the age of MAHA and boycotting Kellogg’s, we are more aware than ever that what’s in packaged foods was never meant to sustain us. That means that even if our time spent gatekeeping our pantries seems thankless, it actually isn’t— a day will come when even the teenager who hasn’t a whiff of mortality about him now will look back and realize he was blessed to not grow up on Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and Captain Crunch. Each meal we serve is actually an investment in the physical well being of our family— which is clearly not to say that we worship health, or that our actions bear a guarantee that they can’t possibly provide. But they offer something God designed our bodies to utilize, and that echoes forward.

Second, I want to point illustrate how quickly and easily our mindsets can change. For my grandmother, a lifetime of purpose and habit slid in a clear four year-period. The door cracked open, and the floods were swift. Some change is inevitable; preferable even, desired. But some is the result of loosening our standards, and unless there’s a clear reason for that, it’s surrender that leads to defeat.

And finally— all these posts I’ve had about intentionally fulfilling our God-given roles as women? This is why it matters. When Mamaw became weaker, older, frail… there was no one nearby to do for her what she had done for countless others. The woman who had faithfully delivered homemade meals to the generations above her was left without someone to bring by a casserole, to restock her pantry, or to drop by a piece of pie. Don’t think I let myself off the hook here. I lived six hours away, but I ask myself daily if I could have done more. If nothing else, being a line of communication between Mamaw and her church (which became difficult to attend regularly as time went on) might have helped. But I missed that chance, and so did a small army of women from my own generation who were knee-deep in parenting and forgot about the kind Titus 2 woman who had made patchwork lap blankets for the babies that were now lanky teens.

And that? That last reason? That’s a big part of the why behind this whole series. I feel burdened that we, as women, should neither neglect those just starting the path, or those who have run the race faithfully. We should be fully immersed in the business of being the hands and feet of Jesus to our community. Our families, our friends, our churches, our towns should all benefit from the talents the Lord has bestowed on us. It’s so easy to get caught up in the day in and day out worries of keeping up with the laundry and attending to the details of raising children— and these are good, important, and worthy things. But God’s vision is bigger. It uses the home as a starting place, and it stretches us past our own four walls.

Look around you today. Ask yourself who you haven’t seen in a while, who you haven’t heard from. Send a text or two checking in on friends who’ve been quiet. If the Holy Spirit brings someone to mind who you don’t have contact info for, actively pursue getting it. That older lady four pews in front of you likely has her name and number on record in the church office. Call and get it. Strike up a friendship. The mom who quit showing up at co-op? Someone knows who she is. Find out. Connect.

If you are called by His Name, you are called to be an active part of the Body.

Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.—Hebrews 13:16

In Christ,

Heather