The Saturday Journal: Fruit of Her Hands
- tathelmillerwriter
- Mar 8
- 5 min read
It’s not found in too many cookbooks–not on many dessert tables at church dinners or potluck suppers, anymore. It should be though. My Granny Rhodes made it often–especially when the threshers came to the farm. She always cooked a big meal–as part of their pay for their time. And the workers--they always ate first–out of respect, and once they were done–then her children sat down at the table.
My Mama told me how my Granny Rhodes would make each layer of the cake and then spread apple butter in between the layers and she would stack them high–it was called an Apple Stack Cake–some refer to it as the Appalachian Stack Cake. I read historians believe the Apple Stack Cake dates back to the 19th century and was also served as a wedding cake where several guests would bring a layer to the wedding and then use apple butter or dried cooked apples as the filling between the layers.
I can remember my Granny Rhodes picking up apples under the apple tree. It was a small tree and we would get scolded if we grandkids picked the green apples off the tree before they were ripe. She handled each apple delicately–carefully turning each one over in her hand–checking for bruises and blemishes. And then she would spend hours peeling her prized apples. Somebody bought her one of those fancy apple peelers one time–a wooden one with a crank and the peelings would glide off the apple. But it just wasn’t the same for her–I recall. There was something about the quiet time–a flowered stained apron adorning her chest–a tin pan in her lap full of apple peels and her hands withered from apple juice and water as she dropped the apple slices in a bucket filled with water and a touch of salt–
In my Grandma Lackey’s back yard grew two large grapevines–their roots deep into the ground. And they produced the deepest of purple concord grapes–the kind with the hull where the sweetness of the inside of the grape squirts out into your mouth. Us kids were constantly told by my Grandma–do not eat the hulls–but we did anyway. I still do–that’s the best part. My Grandma would do whatever she could to protect those precious grapes from birds and other pests–including her grandkids–from eating too many. You see, we used the grapes to make the wine for her church–for communion. We would pick the grapes and then take each grape and separate the hull from the inside of the grape--dropping them into a large crock. Then we would lay the sugar to the grapes and when I say lay–I mean pour what seems like gallons of sugar over the grapes–of course it wasn’t that much. After this came the stirring–and there were no large spoons or spatulas to touch the juice or the deliciousness of the harvest–it was always stirred--by hand.
My Great-Aunt Lena, who I loved dearly–she was my bonus Grandma. And for over forty years she served her church each and every Sunday–using her hands–baking the communion bread for the Lord’s Supper. My Great-Aunt Lena’s church services included communion each Sunday and she rose early every Sabbath and baked not one cake of unleavened bread–but two–one to use and one–just in case. It was important for the bread to be whole.
And once these words were read and after--the bread was broken. And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body. (Matthew 26:26, KJV).
I was in my early 30’s–in a training session at the bank where I worked and a person sitting next to me said–to me, ‘You don’t look your age–you look younger. But when I saw your hands, I knew you were older than your face showed.’
And I’ll be honest–that bothered me at the time–and for a while to come. It doesn’t now.
Our hands can tell a lot about our stories.
Her story is written in two of the four gospels–The Widow with the Two Mites. Both writers, both disciples–Mark and Luke devoted four verses each in their gospels to her story. Both called her a certain poor widow.
Jesus was there at the temple–watching as people gave to the treasury and this widow–she emptied her hands of two mites–three eighths of a cent–not even a penny in today’s currency and she gave. She gave all she had. And Jesus saw her–giving of the fruit of her hands. He used her story as a teaching moment for His disciples. See that widow woman–she gave all she had–out of her poverty–she gave all. (Luke 21:1-4, Mark 12:41-44).
I was about 30 minutes away from home--less than 20 miles from the next Wal-Mart--my next destination. Should I stop at this one--the one I was less familiar with or travel on. I stopped. I didn't need many items on this day--I could have easily went through the self-checkout line--but I didn't. Honestly I miss the conversations with the clerks--I believe they miss us too. She was standing there--her smile as wide as the "W" on her vest. She was jolly--talking to her customer who sat low in her wheelchair. And I was like, I want to go through her line.
She asked me how my day had been--if the green tea I was buying was good. And she wore a button. It read, TEAM JESUS. I like your button I said. She smiled even brighter. 'Yes, ma'am--we have to be on the right team don't we. The other team is no good--we are on the winning team!'
And she touched her button on her chest and laughed, 'Sometimes I have to adjust it--make sure it's on straight.'
The fruit of our hands can be the peeling of apples–feeding those we love–making cakes that touch the sky.
The fruit of our hands can be the stirring of juice–the picking of grapes–for service to the Lord.
The fruit of our hands can be the kneading of bread–carefully wrapping the cakes in plastic–for forty plus years–for the Lord’s Supper.
The fruit of our hands can be a touch--making sure our message is where others can see it--read it--ponder on it.
And the fruit of our hands can be the emptying of them–trusting God will fill them–again and again.
Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gate.
Proverbs 31:31 (KJV)
My new book and Bible study, "Fruit of Her Hands" will prayerfully be available in late fall of this year.
More details to come.
Do you have a "Fruit of Her Hands" story about a loved one? I would love to hear your story.
A humble and heartfelt thank you for reading The Saturday Journal.
I am grateful for each of you and for your kind words and encouragement.
My prayer is to share The Saturday Journal every Saturday or at least bi-weekly--
and the stories shared here in this space will bless you in some small way.
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All photos @copyright Tathel Miller, unless otherwise credited to another photographer.
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