The Biscuit Baker

My mother was a great biscuit maker. As a grown-up, I found out what she called “biscuits” were really “yeast rolls,” but no matter – in my mind they’ll always be biscuits. That big yellow Pyrex bowl would come out and…yum! Our mouths would start watering and we would greedily anticipate a couple (or three!) of those satisfying treats sliding down our throats in a few hours, to say nothing of their glorious baking aroma filling our noses.

Occasionally they wouldn’t “turn out,” or so she’d lament, but I can’t say we were able to tell. Or maybe it just didn’t matter, I can’t exactly remember. Biscuits were mom and we loved them. And her.

Now that I’ve dabbled in dough a bit myself, I realize that yeast rolls are not always easy-peasy. The result can depend on the weather, whether you spent enough time kneading (no dough hooks on the mixer for mom – she used her muscles) and myriad other factors. They also take time and a mother of 4 “stairsteps” just didn’t have much of that. This was also in the days before “rapid-rise” yeast – it just took its old sweet time back then. So, it dawns on me that maybe we should have told her how much I loved those biscuits – and her for making them.

No, we weren’t complete ingrates. I know we often said, “Mom – these are so good!” But I don’t think we quite “got it” that those biscuits were much more than flour and salt, yeast and water – they were love. And commitment. And determination. And hopes. And dreams. They were pastry proof that we were important gifts from a marvelous God.

While today I can whip up a decent homemade roll, in my admittedly aging and getting-more-nostalgic-by-the-day memory they don’t quite match up to Mom’s. I often don’t even bother to do the “whipping,” resorting instead to the frozen Rhodes (which do a quite passable job, if the truth be known).

They’re just not Jean’s.

How happy is everyone who fears the Lord, who walks in His ways! You will surely eat what your hands have worked for. You will be happy, and it will go well for you...May the Lord bless you from Zion, so that you will see the prosperity of Jerusalem all the days of your life, and will see your children's children. ~Psalms 128:1-2, 5-6

Happy Mother's Day!

Here’s a month of May quiz for you—see if you know what happened on the following dates:

●May 7, 1915 (The ship Lusitania was sunk during WW I)

●May 8, 1945 (VE Day—Victory in Europe, the end of WW II in Europe)            

●May 14, 1948 (Israel became an independent nation)                                                                                                ●May 16, 1974 (Barb Larson became a mother) 

Now, you may be thinking, that last May event can’t quite be considered as momentous a day as the others in the list. But, ahhh, to me it can. And is. 

On that day in what was then West Berlin, Germany, Angela Jean Larson became the fulfillment of a long-held dream, a gorgeous gift from a most loving Heavenly Father. At 7 lbs. 4 oz., she technically missed Mother’s Day that year by 4 days but began what would come to be a most welcome every-day-is-mother’s-day for me.

Angie was my mother’s first grandchild. Those thousands of miles between her home in Wisconsin and Angie’s in Europe (courtesy of the US Army) made my skittish “I can’t possibly get on a plane and fly anywhere” mother into a very brave woman. She persuaded her mother, then about 76 or so, to accompany her “across the pond” and up six flights of stairs (no elevator) to see this new miracle of life. I remember like yesterday watching my mom catch her first glimpse of her first grandchild. Tears streaming down her face, she grabbed my child from my arms and clutched the babe in hers. I was not at all sure she was going to ever give her back!  

In May 2002 our pastor assigned the congregation a task: write a letter to your mother, telling why you’re grateful she was yours.  Here’s part of what I wrote: “I’m sure you’ve heard the old Jewish proverb, “God could not be everywhere so He created mothers.” Well, we know that’s not true, for God is everywhere; He created mothers to help demonstrate His love, to be His hands, to show His care. You have done that for your children.

Because of you, your children came to know Christ. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to take us to church alone every week. While Dad supported you in your resolve, it was you who had to get us all up, not listen to any excuses and get us there on time each week. We knew that was where we belonged, that unless we were too sick to stand we were getting up and going! And I thank you for that.

Thank you, too, for not just letting Jesus show on Sunday morning, but during the rest of the week as well. Certain principles like respecting other people’s property, the need for truth telling and working at a task until completion are important to me because you demonstrated that importance to you.”  

I hope I’ve let “Jesus show” to my first Mother’s Day gift and to the 2 precious gifts who followed. I pray they can say of their mom, “Her children rise up and call her blessed,” (Proverbs 31) as I do of mine.

Happy Mother’s Day!