We’ve spent Mardi Gras at my parents’ house, away from all the festivities (and traffic) in New Orleans.  My dad grew up on a farm in Mustang, Oklahoma, which is now practically a suburb of Oklahoma City.  We were talking with him the other day about how his mother would provide a hearty, hot breakfast, a full lunch (fried chicken, potatoes, vegetable, etc.), and then a large dinner as well.  The men would come in from the fields to eat lunch during the harvest.  She got up before everyone else and started the stove on winter mornings.  She butchered the chickens.  I don’t envy some of the hard work she had to do, but I do envy having work with such a clear purpose.  

We’re working our way, very slowly, closer to the land.  Our little garden has produced well considering the neglect it has suffered.  We’re looking at joining a CSA (community supported agriculture) group out of Baton Rouge, so we will pay a fee for the year and get fresh, organic produce every week in April through August. (This takes out the middleman and supports a small farm which doesn’t destroy the land, not to mention cutting down on the effects of transportation.)

In many places just getting food on the table (if there is a table!) is an all-consuming daily project.  Where our food comes so easily to our tables, it is less appreciated.  One of our plans for Lent is to eat more simply, and hopefully more healthily, and stick to a tighter food budget.  Hopefully along the way, we can learn to be a little more careful in our eating, and a little more thankful for our bounty.

Another blessing we have had since the birth of our second baby: my mother has been staying with us for almost three weeks now. I don’t know how I would have survived without her! She has been the definition of selfless service. Between tag-teaming the babies, doing laundry, changing countless diapers, washing dishes, and providing moral support to tired and confused new parents, she has been priceless, despite her own exhaustion. (She doesn’t usually have to try and keep up with a two-year-old!) Lucy wakes up in the morning now saying, “Where Grandma?” and Mom has a special touch for rocking Samantha to sleep. It’s a little scary to think how I will do this by myself (during the day, anyway) when she leaves!

It is a special calling to be a grandmother, to be a support for not only your own children, but your children’s spouses and children as well. It represents, it seems to me, a new level of service, even broader and more accepting than motherhood. Faults and mistakes of grandchildren can be washed away by love that is Christ-like in its willingness to forgive. I am told it is a great joy to be a grandparent; I hope someday I am blessed with the opportunity to love as whole-heartedly and selflessly I am watching my parents and my husband’s parents love our children now.

My mom always told me (in jest?), “I raised my kids, I’m not going to raise yours.” She doesn’t live close enough to do all the raising, but I’m so thankful she has decided that she doesn’t mind helping!