One of the fondest memories I have of my grandmother was what a wonderful cook she was. Every time I visited her house, it was filled with wonderful aromas of every type of food imaginable. It was a dream come true for me and my brothers. She had an old kitchen range that wouldn’t impress anyone, but it was like a paintbrush in Picasso’s hand. There was always something delicious in the works. There were deserts on the chest freezer she had outside her kitchen. It was better than any modern day buffet that you could visit.
For some reason, I never remember seeing my grandmother cook anything on outdoor grills. No, you would never find charcoal in that house. It was indoor cooking the old-fashioned way. Despite her lack of modern day efficiencies, the meals were always memorable. My favorite was always breakfast. There was just something about getting up early in the morning and being awakened by the smell of freshly cooked bacon or sausage with toast and grits and soft, fluffy biscuits. My grandmothers biscuits were the best. To this day, I haven’t found any that I like better.
I remember one particular visit when I was very young. I begged and begged my grandmother to let me help her make the biscuits one morning. Of course, it didn’t take much begging on my part to convince her to let me help, but I’m sure it wasn’t long before she regretted her decision. She started out by showing me how to take the flour and make the dough and roll it out on a big pan. She then allowed me to make some dough of my own and roll it out, but somehow it didn’t look as smooth as hers. My dough had cracks and holes in it. Hers was smooth and flat. It was a lot like molding Play-Doh, but I wasn’t very good at it. She cut out her biscuits from the sheet of dough into nice, neat little circles ready to put in the oven. I cut out my biscuits into small blobs that didn’t look at all like biscuits. After about 15 minutes, my hands and face were covered with flour and I decided to let the expert take control and finish the biscuits. I should have done that all along.
I was thinking how many times in my life that I’ve tried to take control of a particular situation and end up making a bigger mess than before I started. I failed to realize that the Lord who stretched out the Heavens and the Earth all by himself certainly didn’t need any help from me in my everyday problems. Just like that morning with my grandmother, as soon as I got myself out of the way and let the expert take control, the result was much better than I could have ever done on my own.
Who’s in control of your actions and decisions?
