October 14, 2019 – My niece was perched on the porch steps, sorting a rock pile to select a suitable candidate. The pecans beside her would be no match for her brute strength, provided she could just find the right pounder.
Fortunately for the integrity of the porch, her papaw stepped outside. “Rosie, I have a nutcracker. Come inside and I’ll show you.”
She popped up and stomped in behind him, closely followed by her older sister Reni. Papaw cleared the table. The cacophany of his rummaging through the kitchen drawer made my phone call a challenge, but he eventually found what he was looking for: two silver nutcrackers.
Seated at the table, with Rosie and Reni pressing against him, he gave a demonstration with full explanation. My conversation ended, and I hung up in time to watch and listen.
“You put the pecan inside, like this, and hold it in place, and then squeeze these metal parts together, but not too hard. If you want, you can take the pieces and turn them like this, then break each half apart even more.”
Their blue eyes sparkled, riveted on Papaw’s hands holding the shiny metal and now fragmented pecan. This was exciting stuff! A new world opened to their minds, a world in which nuts can be enjoyed without the assault and battery of whatever surface the girls happen to be sitting on.
“See, then you can break apart the rest with your fingers, and get the meat out. This part is the meat of the nut.”
Rosie’s hearty voice echoed, “Yeah, we gotta get the MEAT!”
Reni wanted to try, so Papaw wrapped his hands around hers and they cracked another pecan together.
A lump formed in my throat as I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture. I had already felt a bit sentimental as soon as I saw Rosie’s pink wool hat loaded with nuts. Pecans still in their shells mean something special to me.
See, childhood summer visits to MY papaw’s house guaranteed immense delight. On those roadtrips to Mississippi, I anticipated many things: a full set of Sugar Creek Gang mysteries on a shelf in the living room, a screened-in porch out back with tables for board games, an outdoor fridge stocked with orange and grape sodas, a massive hammock in the shade, a huge yard where we could play football, mayhaw bushes on the fence, and pecans everywhere. The yard was a veritable pecan orchard, and the ground was a treasure trove of nutty goodness.
For a kid, it was paradise. We’d play all day, in and out of the house. Then, in the evenings, we’d crack pecans and eat them. My fingers would get sore, and often my impatience would land a bitter, crunchy piece of inner shell between my molars. Oh well. The citronella lamps smelled funny, but a weird smell was better than swarms of mosquitoes. Mississippi summer evenings are warm, but that porch magically always had a breeze.
I learned to crack pecans at Papaw’s house. Now for the rest of my life, every time I see them unshelled, I think of him. I can still see his hands squeezing the silver nutcracker, and I can hear his quiet voice telling a joke or a story. He always made me laugh, with his dry humor and Southern country boy persona. He teased as only a papaw can, gently needling but never belittling. He’d get this look in his eyes, though, so you could tell (if you knew him) when he was kidding.
I love that man, and I miss him. He died when I was fifteen. I didn’t realize the pain of losing him would grow deeper as I grew older. My sixteenth birthday, there was no silly granddaughter card with the same scrawl as every other year, “I love you, Papaw.” High school graduation, college graduation, my brother’s wedding…he wasn’t there. And that still hurts.
How can something as insignificant as a pecan evoke such an array of profound emotions?
The gift of memory. God created us with the ability to remember, to associate events and emotions and facts with items or songs or smells or pictures. We see and hear and smell and taste, and we remember. And this gift is for more than mere sentimentality. It helps us look to the Lord and keep trusting Him while we wait for His promises to be fulfilled.
May 25, 2021 – The story of God’s people is a story of waiting…for a looooooong time. Waiting for the promised son. Waiting for deliverance from bondage. Waiting for a home. Waiting for a word. Waiting for the Deliverer. How do you wait so long for something you can’t see without losing heart? Remember. Look at the things you CAN see, and remember.
The Old Testament is full of commands to remember, and God gave His people help to obey. Feasts, fringes, offerings, and more filled their calendars and their homes.
“Chew these herbs, and remember how bitter was the slavery of Egypt.”
“Eat this meat, and remember the way I delivered you from both your slavery and your sin.”
“Build this fort, camp out in it with your kids, and remember how I provided safety for you in the wilderness.”
“Bring this lamb to the temple, sacrifice it, and remember that your sin demands a bloody death but my grace provides a substitute.”
“Look at that rock pile from the riverbed, and remember the time I piled a river into a heap so you could cross over safely, with all your kiddos and your cattle.”
Perhaps the sweetest material remembrance God’s people now enjoy is communion. In this, I think, we taste the sweetest blessing of the gift of memory in two directions.
Eat this bread. Drink this cup. Remember His body broken and blood shed for you in the past. Remember that He is coming in the future. Remember what happened. Remember what will happen. Remember that He is waiting to eat this bread and drink this cup until He sits with you in the kingdom. He remembers His people and anticipates a feast with us around His table by refraining from what He freely gives to us now. Remember this. Remember Him.
Pecans aren’t anything special. But they remind me of something precious. They evoke joy in the blessings I had with my Papaw, sorrow in my present ache for his presence, and then longing for eternity in God’s presence with all God’s people.
A piece of bread and fruit from the vine aren’t anything special. But they remind us of our precious Savior, His death, and His return. As we touch and taste and chew and swallow something so miraculously ordinary, may our hearts be enflamed with love and longing for him.
I’d love to hear from you below! What memories stir your longing for eternity? How has the Lord’s Table deepened your affection and anticipation for Christ? How can we use the gift of memory to bless our neighbors, children and otherwise?