My mom was a simple cook. I don’t have any ingredient-smudged recipe cards of famous homemade dishes she passed down. But I have sweet memories of talk radio shows or baseball games blaring while she made chocolate chip cookies from the recipe off the back of the chocolate chip bag. I’d help mix and measure, as we talked over the radio and nibbled on the semi-sweet chocolate morsels.
A young bride at age 19, my mom told me how she made bacon sandwiches to send with my dad who was finishing his music degree early in their marriage. She’d laugh at how she barely knew anything about life or cooking or common sense as a teenage bride.
Over the next decade, they served the church with faithfulness, as they energetically loved people via the music and youth ministries with two young kids in tow (my older brother and me). Tragedy struck 10 years later when my mom became a young widow after my dad died in a car accident. Our church and our world was rocked.
I don’t remember much of my mom’s cooking in those in-between years. Through her grief, Mom kept life moving along with family celebrations, birthday parties, school, and church activities. Even without my dad, she provided love and stability in our home.
Five years later, Mom married my stepdad (a godly man) and we moved to a dairy farm. Though she was raised on a farm, my mom, brother, and I were accustomed to city life and not your ideal “farm people.” But we were a full family again and the new routines created happy memories.
On the farm, Mom cooked more. She had a husband who spent long days in the barn and fields, and we often delayed our dinner time so we all could eat together around the table on our classic 1980s Corelle dinnerware. My stepdad was a bachelor until age 33, so he appreciated the warm meal and smiling faces when he came in from a long day, covered in nature’s elements.
Though her experimentation in the kitchen was limited, I remember Mom’s chicken, broccoli, and rice casserole and her savory crockpot vegetable soup. Another favorite? Chicken and cheese wrapped in crescent rolls sopped in a cream-of-something soup. And some of my most treasured memories include cutting up canned biscuits and shaking them in a gallon baggie of cinnamon and sugar for mom’s famous monkey bread. As it baked, the smell was warm and welcoming and the syrupy reward was worth the wait.
This is what I remember best about Mom’s kitchen: Her table was simple, but the connections were deep. She wasn’t a gourmet cook, but she gathered people with joy and offered her full attention. She fostered community in our home, whether it was just our family or with invited guests. Her love for Christ fueled her love for others.
Mom showed me that feeding people was about the people, not the menu. A simple meal, shared stories, and laughter around the table are all that’s needed to love well. Mom passed away 13 years ago, but her love for people still lives on — and maybe, just maybe, monkey bread is her food legacy after all.
Diagnosed with an incurable genetic condition (Vascular Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome) at the age of 33, Erica Baldwin writes at ohhisgoodness.com to encourage women to cling to God’s goodness as they face life’s most difficult trials. Her fragile body and uncertain future led to her firm hope in God’s character, not in her circumstances.
She’s written a seven-night devotional, Rest in Jesus, for those – like her – who struggle with anxious, sleepless nights. Her writing has been featured in Joyful Life and Be Still magazines, and she serves as a contributor on the Hope in Grief website.
Erica lives in North Carolina with her ever-detailed husband and 12-year-old miracle son. She treasures every “normal” day as a gift, especially days that begin with coffee and end with the family cuddling on the couch. While she hates heights, Erica loves fall weather, salty snacks, cheesy Hallmark movies, and listening to others’ stories of resilience.
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