Family

Mid-summer brings farmers’ markets, and I can’t visit one without looking for the freshest green beans I can find. Not just because I love fresh green beans, but because of the memory of close family ties they always invoke.

A memory I have of my grandmother feels as if it happened only yesterday. She is sitting on our screened-in back porch with a big silver bowl in her lap and a big brown bag of what we call “string beans” in Tennessee on the table beside her. I am 12, and as I watch her snap, snap, snap I’m lulled by the rhythm of her pace and mesmerized by the sight of her gnarled 90-year-old fingers as she works. The method she used until it was second nature, and which is now second nature to me, involves snapping off each end, peeling down the string, flipping the bean around and giving two quick snaps between your thumb and forefinger. Snap…snap…zip, snap, snap. That’s the string bean symphony.

I remember wondering if the bowl fit perfectly in her lap because it was made to do so, or if her lap had just molded to the shape of the bowl over the years.

On those hot summer afternoons I had my best talks with Granny as I watched her snap. I would occasionally ask a question, knowing it could be quite a few more snaps before I got an answer. My questions were both trivial and monumental, but her answers always seemed profound and comforting.

My grandmother died two days after suffering a stroke on her 90th birthday. Through the years, each time I sit down with a bag of beans to snap I feel tremendously comforted and reassured that everything will be okay. It gives me a feeling of connection that transcends time and location. When my first granddaughter was two and visiting with us, I encouraged her to snap string beans with me. After snapping off each end, I handed the bean to her and told her to break it into little pieces, never dreaming she’d be able to do so without help. Her chubby little hands tightened down on the bean and she twisted it until it snapped. “Ouch!” she said, as if the snapping noise indicated the bean had been hurt. I handed her another bean. “Ouch…ouch,” she exclaimed as she gave it two perfect snaps.

The tears in my eyes as I watched her caught me by surprise. Now a new generation was snapping beans. Ninety-year-old, gnarled fingers…two-year-old, pink, chubby ones…we were all connected. The strings that hold us together can be as simple, and strong, and purposeful as those on the beans. With a lot of “ouch” when they break.

In his book Growing Wise in Family Life, Chuck Swindoll writes, “I know of no realm of life that can provide more companionship in a lonely world or greater feelings of security and purpose in chaotic times than the close ties of a family.” In Psalm 68:6 (NIV) we read, “God sets the lonely in families.” In the day in which we live families are greater gifts than ever. Encourage those you love to remember their family ties and draw strength from them.

If this sounds familiar that’s because it is excerpted in part from my first Back Porch Break newspaper column in 1995! Hope it still brings a smile or a tear–the good kind!

Here’s a “Back Porch Break” classic with memories of Thanksgivings past. Wishing you and yours a blessed Thanksgiving, full of memory-making!

With each year that passes I become fonder of Thanksgiving. Uncomplicated by the excessive decorating and gift-giving that we seem compelled to do at Christmas time, Thanksgiving is simpler. It’s all-inclusive, and it’s a time for focusing not on what we don’t have, but on what we do.

One of my fondest memories of Thanksgivings past was when I was living in a tiny village in Germany as the homesick wife of an Army officer and the mother of a two-year-old. The only other American family in the village invited us to share Thanksgiving dinner with them. They shared a tradition as well.

Many years and changes later that tradition is now a special part of Thanksgivings in our blended family. Although the group that gathers at our house can differ from year to year, someone’s sure to ask, “Are we going to do the corn thing?” Here’s how it’s done.

After the table is set for Thanksgiving dinner, you put a single kernel of corn at each place (popcorn works just fine). Once everyone is seated, you pass a small bowl or cup from person to person. In turn, each drops his or her kernel of corn into the bowl and says what he or she is most thankful for this year. (I always leave the gravy on the stove and the lid on the sweet-potato-and-marshmallow casserole…this can take awhile!)

Since there are no right or wrong answers, we’ve found almost everyone feels free to say something. This simple sharing bonds young and old, and both laughter and tears are pretty much guaranteed! If you decide to try “the corn thing,” the scene around your table could be something like this…

A mother might look down at the newborn sleeping in the crook of her arm and softly express gratitude for “ten fingers and ten toes.

A college freshman, home for the holiday with new appreciation for all that he left behind, might say, “I’m thankful for a home to come to…and that Mom’s doing my laundry.”

A grandma who successfully recuperated from heart bypass surgery might take the bowl in one hand, the corn in the other, and look around the table at people she loves. “I’m just thankful to be here with all of you,” she might say through her tears.

A small child might wriggle and giggle when it’s her turn, then say she’s thankful for “mommy and daddy and turkey to eat.”

One year, after the corn was collected and I was back in the kitchen pouring gravy into the gravy boat, I felt my little granddaughter Amanda tugging on my skirt. “Grancy!” she said with tears in her eyes, “I forgot to say I was thankful for Jesus—and for my sister!” I was glad to get everyone’s attention again so Amanda could add her “overlooked blessings.”

After the sharing, when the tears and laughter have subsided, we join hands and say grace. Of course, a grateful heart is the best prayer of all. May yours be full to overflowing with gratitude this year.

Family Ties

Thanksgiving Corn