The Saturday Journal: The Family Table & Homecoming Dinners & an Italian Creme Cake

My Grandpa Lackey’s birthday was a few days ago–the last day of March.  And it's been a many of years since he celebrated his birthday here on earth.  He always looked forward to his birthday–that’s when his family and some church friends would gather around his special table after church on Sunday and eat until we were full. He would always sit at the head of the table. 

The table at my grandparents’ home was a custom build–my Grandpa wanted a table that couldn’t be found in any furniture store.  It was built to resemble a picnic table with long benches on each side where lots of people could sit. Two chairs–one person at the head of the table and another, at the other end. 

And if I’m remembering right, my Daddy would sit in one chair.  I’m sure he didn’t when the preacher came to share the Sunday dinner with us.  Now this meal was right after church–lunch then meant dinner.  And the evening meal–well, that was supper.  

The family table was never used but on these special occasions–the rest of the meals were eaten at the bar.  And when the table wasn’t in use–this heavy oak table was slid against the wall–the benches tucked away under the table. 

It was Homecoming Sunday–Dinner on the Ground. And here we were, the congregation gathered out in the back of the parking lot after worship service. Lawn chairs and stiff-back Sunday School chairs filled the area of pavement and grass. The dinner tables were long plyboards covered with old flower linen cloth--much like a sheet. And the boards were steadied with old sawbucks. Corelle dishes and Tupperware containers held fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, deviled eggs, peas, corn, squash casserole, sweet potato casserole...And at the end of the row of tables–there they were--a place reserved only for the glorious desserts! Pies and cakes and pies and cakes and cookies and brownies–just to name a few.

My family hadn’t been going to this church long–we knew lots of people there though. Family, really.  My Grandpa Rhodes helped build this church–used his hands to hammer nails–lay brick–spread mortar. And he helped build this church through strong leadership–love, and dedication. 

Well, on this Homecoming Sunday, again I was fairly new to this church and really didn’t know what to bring to the dinner. I decided to bake a chocolate pound cake. It rose high like the sun–pretty and golden brown early that on Sabbath morning. I tucked it inside my Tupperware cake carrier--the one with the yellow braided handle.  And as we ladies were unpacking our treasures of food and bounty--I proudly placed it among the other desserts. 

At the end of the feast, when the women were cleaning up–gathering their dishes–there was my cake and not one piece was missing. Not one. And the cake plate beside my pound cake–only the crumbs remained.  A little hurt, I placed my cake back in the carrier.  And I asked one of the other ladies–what kind of cake was in that plate–the plate with the rose colored flowers and gold trim?  ‘Oh, that was Mrs. Walker’s Italian Creme Cake,’ she replied. ‘Melts in your mouth icing and four-layer--maybe three-layer cake. There’s always a fight to get a piece of her cake. You know–not an actual fight, not here at church–but you know what I mean.’ And on that particular Sunday, I learned a valuable lesson–never place your cake beside anything Mrs. Walker baked. 

Last year the Special Days Committee at my church asked if I would help them with a very special project.  A writing project–the history of the church's 63 years.  And one of my favorite stories I was asked to write was the history of our fellowship hall.  I want to share with you, a little of the story. 

On May 2, 1993, the members of Hilltop Baptist Church were given a questionnaire from the Hilltop Fellowship Hall Building Committee.  The subject read, Questionnaire on your Fellowship Hall. And the directions were simple and intentional, “Pray over each question before you answer them. This is your fellowship hall and we would like for each member to express their desires in all aspects of the planning and building of the fellowship hall.”

The members had one week to complete the questionnaire. The questions included what type of windows do you want? Do you want storage? Do you want the church to borrow the money or wait until all the money is raised? And there were many more pertinent questions.

Every member had a voice. Every voice mattered. 

A fellowship hall is described as a meeting facility often attached to a church building—a banquet room—a gathering place for the church and oftentimes for the community to use.  

Looking back over the last twenty-eight years, Hilltop’s Fellowship Hall has been used for just that—a gathering place—a banquet hall, and oh, if only the walls could talk. They would tell stories of tables filled with the finest of Southern cooking—deviled eggs, fried chicken, coconut cakes, and apple pies. Stories would be told of games played and children laughing during Vacation Bible School as they use their last drop of paint on their birdhouses or eat their snacks of cookies and cake. Others would include times when the young people of the church opened the doors for fundraisers to help with outreach in the community and for missions. 

The walls would tell stories of gifts unwrapped and smiles from pregnant Mamas and Daddys alongside, and stories of hope for the brides and grooms who were showered with gifts to begin their new life together.  And the walls hold sacred stories too—some of sadness, as hands and hearts have opened wide to feed those who mourn. 

These walls have seen a lot of love over the years.  

The members of Hilltop Baptist Church built more than a building with chairs and tables. They built a place where fragments of love are in abundance and memories are made and cherished. And one can’t help but wonder, did they know as they answered each question—prayed each prayer—did they even have an inkling or a clue of just how much God would bless their vision—their hard work then, and for the generations to come. 

Sadly we don’t sit around the family table as much–all together–nor do we eat outside on tables made of plywood and sawbucks on Homecoming Sundays like we did.  Those things have changed a little...I miss those days. But every time we sit with those we love--whether at the family table--a gathering at our church's fellowship halls or simply sitting next to someone sharing a small meal--we are blessed.

I believe Charles Spurgeon said it best when he said, “At every banquet of love there are many baskets of fragments left.”

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And as always, 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.

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All photos @copyright Tathel Miller, unless otherwise credited to another photographer.