You’ve seen our little row of pole limas in a previous post —
They have finally started to get big enough to eat. The other night, I picked enough to have about a cup–
(I know, I know. —But I really did want to pick them and cook them and eat them — so I cooked them up with some left over ham, and Certain Man had them for lunch, and I got a taste of them. Yummy!)
Tonight I went out, and there were a few more. I stood there in the evening coolness and picked my Pole Limas and thought about my Daddy. Last Summer, he was busy with the big patch of lima beans that he and Mark, Jr. always grew. They did splendidly, and we all received from the bounty. I have one bag left in my freezer, and I cannot bear to cook them.
They are a tangible link to this Daddy that I miss so much.
I wonder what he’s growing in Heaven . . .
I came into the house and put my little bit of beans on to cook while I cut up some tomatoes that needed cooking. I made those beans exactly the way Daddy loved them. Cooked with some butter, salt and a dash of Sweet and Low in more water than usual. When they were just tender, I added some regular coffee creamer to them, and they would have made him smile.
But when my own Certain Man came in and saw them on the stove, it didn’t take him long to have some, and they made him smile, too.
The smiles of two good, good men.
One smiles in my memory. The other smiles in my kitchen.
How much better could it be?
Lord Jesus, for golden memories of lima beans and summer days;
For the love of two men who love you first and most;
For the extravagant benevolence you have given to me —
Gifts too numerous to count . . .
I give you praise this day.