The Saturday Journal: It is the Little Things. The Small Gifts.

My Mama, as of lately from time to time--she feels pain in her arms--arthritis, the doctor says. And this pain sometimes will limit her reach--the one thing on days when the pain comes--reaching for dishes and bowls and glasses and other things in her kitchen cabinets.

So she and I took a few hours this week and cleaned out her upper kitchen cabinets--me on the step ladder and she sorting what to give away--what to keep--and both of us, what to trash. And if the truth be told--she had a hard time with the giving away and trashing.

Me: What about this flower vase? The one with the pink flower--cracked on one side?

Her: Well, my neighbor Reba gave me that long time ago. I'll give it to her granddaughter.

Me: What about this plastic Christmas candy jar?

Her: One of Tom's friends gave me that one year for Christmas. I might use it again--at Christmas.

Me: What about this dish with the heart? Or the stone jar?

Her: That's your sister's dish. The stone jar, your brother made that in college.

Me: What about this cream colored bowl?

Her: My Mama gave me that. That came from Mama's kitchen.

Me: How about this potpourri jar with the lace cover?

Her: Nora Anne from work gave me that. You remember her. She really liked you. She did that cookbook, remember? That's where my buttermilk poundcake recipe comes from. I'm keeping it. I need to clean it though.

And she touched it gently.

Me: This ole green cigarette dish?

Her: That's your Grandpa's little cigarette dish. You want it?

And you can see how this "cleaning out" story was going...

I'll be flat-out honest with you--I was on a mission to get the cabinets organized. And shamefully I will admit, my patience may have teetered on the edge a few times. It was tiring for both of us. But we got it done--and we were pleased--cabinets cleaned with new lining--dishes and glasses moved around--at least the upper cabinets. A few bags of trash--boxes sealed and labeled, so other family members can look through them at a later date--you know, to see if they want anything.

Later that day I began reflecting back on the morning--could it be by chance --I was being less than understanding, because I wasn't seeing the whole story--not being empathic enough or taking the time to see that stone jar, plate, or bowl--Christmas candles, decorations--all these treasures, many representing a story of Mama's past--a remembrance of a small gift she once received and kept tucked away. And Mama, on this day, her at the age of 84, she still remembered each name--each gift--each cigarette dish.

Yes, yes I was--and for that, I'm deeply sorry.

My Grandma Lackey didn't have a lot--I don't remember her really ever saying she wanted for much of anything as far as fancy dresses, dishes, "whatnots". She was a practical woman--hard-working. And really the only time I saw her rest much during the day was the hour when Days of our Lives hit the screen--just after lunch--now that's another story for another day.

What my Grandma loved most were her family photographs and gifts from her grandkids--the cheap dollar "whatnots" the ones with pink ribbons trimmed in gold ceramic pieces saying "I love my Grandma" and stuff like that. And no matter how many we gave her, she smiled--adding them to her shelves.

She had this one little wooden three-tiered shelf, her father-in-law made it for her. And on it she placed her glass "whatnots", gifts from the grandkids and others, along with a few lace dollies. The shelf sat in what we called the "front living room", the sitting room that was never used. Next to the little wooden shelf sat another table with her other little treasures and family photos in metal frames. Two of the "whatnots" were of decorative glass--a deep ocean blue glass--in the shape of violins or fiddles--us Southerners prefer to call them.

I was sitting on the edge of her big rocker one day--she and I close. I was a teenager. I asked her where she got the blue fiddles and oh how I wish I could remember what she said--but the memory just won't come. I told her I really loved the fiddles and would like to have them one day if that was alright with her.

'Those aren't worth anything. Why would you want them?' she said.

I really like them, is all I remember saying.

And she smiled, 'Take them on home now.'

'No, I can't take'em now. I'll wait until you get tired of them.'

'Take'em now. I don't need them. They are just another thing for me to dust.'

And I did. I took the two fiddles home and wrapped them carefully in a box. And now everyday when I see those little blue fiddles in my kitchen I am reminded of her and her love and of the day she gave me just one of her many gifts--the day she couldn't fully understand why I would want something of little to no worth. In her eyes she believed she had little to give. But she was so wrong.

And He looked up, and saw the rich men casting their gifts into the treasury.

And He saw also a certain poor widow casting in thither two mites.

And He said, Of a truth I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all:

For all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God:

but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had.

Luke 21:1-4

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During the month of September, I hope you will join me in learning more about

A Widow's Mite

and how we can all be a part of this giving of small gifts.

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An announcement about "A Beautiful Grace" updated online shop coming--Tuesday, August 19th!

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A humble and heartfelt thank you for reading The Saturday Journal.

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 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.