What's the scariest thing you can think of? I can think of several really scary things,
some of which I've lived through and some of which I've been spared. We all have that
special fear of something: fear of heights, fear of being alone, fear of bugs, fear of
lightening and storms, and others much worse. Many of our fears are founded by plain
old common sense while others are caused by some prior event in our life.
Now, if fear could be ranked on a scale of 1 to 10, then a "1" is a goose-bump, a "4" is
a nervous sweat, and a "7" is hair standing on the back of your neck. Any number
higher than that is running scared!
Marian was afraid of biscuits. Although she never admitted it, I'm certain in her eyes it
carried a score of "5". I finally came to understand her fear of biscuits, but I must tell
you it took me many, many years. You see, Marian was my mother, and a mother
teaches her children many things by what she does rather than just what she says.
Trust me, I know she was afraid of biscuits.
Breakfast was a scary time in our house. Biscuits. To begin with, we didn't have
store-bought biscuits, and she made them every Saturday morning from scratch. Her
eyes showed great bravery as she mixed each ingredient, patted the dough into shape,
placed them on the pan, put them in the oven, and . . . waited.
Oh, you don't think that's scary? What if the biscuits don't rise? What if the oven
doesn't light? What if they burn on the bottom? What if they don't get done in the
middle? What if they turn out hard as rocks and suitable for target practice? There's a
lot of fear here! If the biscuits don't turn out right, then the gravy is all for nothing, and
breakfast is ruined. In a southern household, you can't have biscuits and gravy without
biscuits. I can still smell the sausage gravy simmering on the stove and the smell of
biscuits rising in the oven. I can still see her standing at the edge of the stove, waiting...
afraid to peek, lest the biscuits will fall.
Years later, as technology advanced and we used our time-saving devices until we had
no time left, breakfast took a sharp turn. Store-bought biscuits. Guaranteed to rise.
Follow the directions properly and they are also guaranteed to be "just right" every
time. But first, you have to open the container. I have to smile in remembrance, but I
saw her fear even then. That penultimate moment as she prepared to puncture the
container, knowing it is going to explode with a loud pop! She tried using a spoon to
break the seal, but she got so paranoid about it that eventually she learned a hard
smack on the corner of the kitchen counter would do the trick as well, with less fear.
The fear score went down to a gentle "2" for many years after that. Unfortunately, she
just didn't care too much for canned biscuits.
I remember the day she finally explained to me about her biscuit-phobia. We were
discussing how she had always wanted to be a great journalist, and her dreams of
writing the perfect story. As a newspaper editor for several years, writing a column of
her own for a small town newspaper, she insisted that some day she would sit down
and actually write a book. I asked her, now that she was finally retired, when she would
ever go ahead and write that book.
Her response was simply, "Oh, I'm afraid I just got baked in the squat."
Naturally confused by that phrase, she explained to me, "When a biscuit goes into the
oven, it squats down and thinks about how glorious it is going to be to rise. It's going to
rise higher than any biscuit ever to be the most beautiful, wonderful thing there could
be. But sometimes, biscuits get to thinking too long and before they know it, they get
baked in the squat. Then, they're not good. They're hard and dry and have to be
discarded."
She explained that's what happened to her writing career. She spent too long thinking
about it and got "baked in the squat". I chuckled at her analogy, but that thought stayed
in my mind for years.
When cancer came and refused to leave until it had done its due, Mom was very brave.
She faced death head-on with a courage I've never known. Her faith was strong in the
Lord, knowing her final destination would be at His side. She was brave up to the end
when her body finally went into a coma and God covered her in His mercy, taking away
the last vestiges of her pain.
As I stayed by her bedside at Hospice, I again thought of those silly biscuits, and
remembered her words: "It squats down and thinks about how glorious it is going to be
to rise. It's going to rise higher than any biscuit ever to be the most beautiful, wonderful
thing there could be."
By her faith, she knew how glorious it would be to rise, and she knew she would rise
again. I know in my heart that one day I will see her in that Heavenly place ~ a place
where there is no fear.
some of which I've lived through and some of which I've been spared. We all have that
special fear of something: fear of heights, fear of being alone, fear of bugs, fear of
lightening and storms, and others much worse. Many of our fears are founded by plain
old common sense while others are caused by some prior event in our life.
Now, if fear could be ranked on a scale of 1 to 10, then a "1" is a goose-bump, a "4" is
a nervous sweat, and a "7" is hair standing on the back of your neck. Any number
higher than that is running scared!
Marian was afraid of biscuits. Although she never admitted it, I'm certain in her eyes it
carried a score of "5". I finally came to understand her fear of biscuits, but I must tell
you it took me many, many years. You see, Marian was my mother, and a mother
teaches her children many things by what she does rather than just what she says.
Trust me, I know she was afraid of biscuits.
Breakfast was a scary time in our house. Biscuits. To begin with, we didn't have
store-bought biscuits, and she made them every Saturday morning from scratch. Her
eyes showed great bravery as she mixed each ingredient, patted the dough into shape,
placed them on the pan, put them in the oven, and . . . waited.
Oh, you don't think that's scary? What if the biscuits don't rise? What if the oven
doesn't light? What if they burn on the bottom? What if they don't get done in the
middle? What if they turn out hard as rocks and suitable for target practice? There's a
lot of fear here! If the biscuits don't turn out right, then the gravy is all for nothing, and
breakfast is ruined. In a southern household, you can't have biscuits and gravy without
biscuits. I can still smell the sausage gravy simmering on the stove and the smell of
biscuits rising in the oven. I can still see her standing at the edge of the stove, waiting...
afraid to peek, lest the biscuits will fall.
Years later, as technology advanced and we used our time-saving devices until we had
no time left, breakfast took a sharp turn. Store-bought biscuits. Guaranteed to rise.
Follow the directions properly and they are also guaranteed to be "just right" every
time. But first, you have to open the container. I have to smile in remembrance, but I
saw her fear even then. That penultimate moment as she prepared to puncture the
container, knowing it is going to explode with a loud pop! She tried using a spoon to
break the seal, but she got so paranoid about it that eventually she learned a hard
smack on the corner of the kitchen counter would do the trick as well, with less fear.
The fear score went down to a gentle "2" for many years after that. Unfortunately, she
just didn't care too much for canned biscuits.
I remember the day she finally explained to me about her biscuit-phobia. We were
discussing how she had always wanted to be a great journalist, and her dreams of
writing the perfect story. As a newspaper editor for several years, writing a column of
her own for a small town newspaper, she insisted that some day she would sit down
and actually write a book. I asked her, now that she was finally retired, when she would
ever go ahead and write that book.
Her response was simply, "Oh, I'm afraid I just got baked in the squat."
Naturally confused by that phrase, she explained to me, "When a biscuit goes into the
oven, it squats down and thinks about how glorious it is going to be to rise. It's going to
rise higher than any biscuit ever to be the most beautiful, wonderful thing there could
be. But sometimes, biscuits get to thinking too long and before they know it, they get
baked in the squat. Then, they're not good. They're hard and dry and have to be
discarded."
She explained that's what happened to her writing career. She spent too long thinking
about it and got "baked in the squat". I chuckled at her analogy, but that thought stayed
in my mind for years.
When cancer came and refused to leave until it had done its due, Mom was very brave.
She faced death head-on with a courage I've never known. Her faith was strong in the
Lord, knowing her final destination would be at His side. She was brave up to the end
when her body finally went into a coma and God covered her in His mercy, taking away
the last vestiges of her pain.
As I stayed by her bedside at Hospice, I again thought of those silly biscuits, and
remembered her words: "It squats down and thinks about how glorious it is going to be
to rise. It's going to rise higher than any biscuit ever to be the most beautiful, wonderful
thing there could be."
By her faith, she knew how glorious it would be to rise, and she knew she would rise
again. I know in my heart that one day I will see her in that Heavenly place ~ a place
where there is no fear.
| Biscuits & Bravery |
| © Ferna Lary Mills |
| A Christian Grief Ministry |
100's of Inspirational Grief Poems and Stories |