On one of my last visits to my grandparent’s home in Green Bay, Wisconsin, they decided to lead my husband, daughter, and I out of town, so we followed their rambling Buick toward the expressway on-ramp.
When we stopped to buy gas, my grandma – “Honey” as I always called her – pressed a 3 X 5 inch piece of paper into my hand. On it, in her large looped cursive writing, was the recipe for her Swedish pancakes.
The thin, crepe-like pancakes were my favorite, and I had helped her make them many times. If I close my eyes right now, I can remember how she’d lift my hand to show how the batter should be just right, coating the spoon.
The oil, she’d explain, should be spitting a bit. Then the batter was poured and the pan tilted – this way and that – to make a thin pancake with sprawling crisped edges.
Honey’s Swedish Pancakes.
That day, I tucked the paper safely into my purse, and later set it on the kitchen shelf right underneath my spices. That recipe is my legacy, my inheritance, a tangible reminder of our relationship.
I wonder what it is I’ll leave behind to my daughter and my daughter’s daughter. Will it be a recipe, my wedding ring, my Bible with the cracked leather binding? Maybe it’s not a “thing” at all.
Psalm 37:18 says our inheritance from God endures “forever.”
As a child of our Heavenly Father, you might think I would be most excited about inheriting my mansion in the sky. But my God-given legacy is more like Honey’s recipe. It is the knowledge that His hand is directing mine, giving me hope and comfort, leading me through good days and bad. It is love poured out in ordinary moments.
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