A few months before my mom finished her cancer battle, I was
driving down the road and suddenly had to pull my car over to the side, with hot
tears spilling down my face, unable to see to drive and needing time for a big
ugly cry before I reached my destination.
The thought that triggered my grief that day was how sad it would be
someday when my dad pulled out the last thing mom had put in the freezer in
their garage. She always kept it pretty
full. They bought a quarter or half beef
at a time, always had rows of freezer bags of last summer’s garden overflow, fresh
pecans, a stock of good sales from the grocery store, and a few baked goods
that mom had made up ready to go in the oven.
She was a master of fruit cobblers and pies and liked to keep some on
hand for the unexpected guests or church potluck or funeral dinner. My dad loved his sweets, and the thought of
him taking out her last dessert
from the freezer made me unbearably sad.
Later that year after mom’s death, Dad proposed to his second wife. We were happy for him and we were also still in a deep place of grief missing our mother. The day before our family would travel for his wedding, my brothers and I met up from three different states at our parents’ house to help Dad load up his belongings. Remembering my freezer worry, I went out to the garage to check the freezer's contents. I brought back a foil-covered pie plate with a label in her handwriting “Blackberry Pie” and carefully unwrapped it to unveil the most beautiful pie! I asked Dad if he minded if we baked it and he gladly obliged. But he didn’t want to stay to eat a piece of it. He was loaded and ready to travel and he was also ready to move on to the next chapter of his life. Perhaps he also knew we needed some space for our memories.
After Dad drove off, my siblings and our spouses and some
of the grandchildren sat and shared stories while we waited on the pie to
bake. As the smells from the oven intensified,
so did our recollections of Mom’s care for our bodies and souls. It was the greatest of pie rituals. We sat it out to cool in the same spot on the
counter where she had cooled pies for over 30 years in that house. We set the table with pretty placements as
she always did to protect her wooden table.
We got out the dessert plates and forks that she had served with so many
times. We sliced exactly enough for
everyone to have a piece but none to be left over. Each of us savored our last slice of Mom’s and
Grandma’s pie until the very last bite.
I thought it would be sad, but it wasn’t. I savored the present moment, something I’m
notoriously awful at doing, and felt such simple joy over this last nurturing gift
left by my mom.
Mom’s last pie she left reminds me that the Lord left another
nurturing gift for us when He left this earth.
Jesus prepared His disciples for His death and resurrection, promising
them comfort that would come from the Holy Spirit, who would be with them just
as He had been with them in body. John
14:25-27 (NIV) says:
25 “All this I have spoken while
still with you. 26 But the Advocate, the Holy
Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and
will remind you of everything I have said to you. 27 Peace I leave with you; my
peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your
hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.
His peace was left with us. He not only left peace for the early
disciples but for you and me today. Peace I leave with you. That is a promise that won’t fail. We will face challenges in this life –
stress, sadness, loneliness, health problems, broken relationships, and all kinds of new normals.
Yet we can find a peace to accompany the
challenges. This peace doesn’t take the
challenges away, but it walks alongside them.
It is a peace that comforts. It
is a peace that lasts. It is a peace
that is beyond our human understanding. May
you find a simple joy in savoring the gift of peace He has left for you.
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