REFLECTIONS

Pumpkin Pie

Fall colors and cooler air often stir wistful childhood memories. They pull my heartstrings toward those grand Thanksgiving celebrations around Munna and PaPa’s table. Even then I noticed how involved everyone became in the preparation of these annual feasts together. Everyone did a little something in preparation. One person though seemed to draw less attention than she deserved. Aunt Jennie made the pumpkin pie.

Her process didn’t hold my attention for long, but I remember she made it with all fresh ingredients. She used a sharp knife to cut into those large orange gourds to find a mass of seeds and goo to remove before reaching a thin layer of pumpkin meat. Then she harvested tiny bits one scrape at a time until she harvested enough to complete her project. I’m not sure how long it took her to scrape enough to make one pie. But for Thanksgiving, she made more than one.

Aunt Jennie was my grandmother’s sister, a grandaunt to me. And while she played a prominent role in the meal, she remained a pillar of humility, content if not pleased to remain in the background much like a servant. But she was not alone there.

On most of those Thanksgiving celebrations, Auntie took her seat in the background too. Aunt May, as some knew her, was one of PaPa’s four sisters, and she avoided the spotlight even more than Jennie. Prior to the meal Auntie would choose a chair in an obscure spot and sit quietly with her hands folded in her lap. There she watched the proceedings, lips pursed as if to discourage any invitation to engage in conversation or to conceal any thoughts running through her mind. She matched her modest dress with fully laced black high-top shoes.

Neither Aunt Jennie nor Auntie ever married, so absent families of their own, both immersed themselves in careers as schoolteachers. Today, those simple lives are represented by modest grave markers in a small Texas cemetery; but their lives were as important to God as we hope yours and mine to be.

Though not filled with adventure or prominence; their lives were instructive, nonetheless. They were teachers after all. From personal letters preserved in family memorabilia, I learned of a heartbreak in Auntie’s life that may help explain her quiet demeanor, and the life in the background she chose. And Aunt Jennie?

Besides living in the background and without accolades or fanfare, Aunt Jennie funded no small part of my college education. Her servant’s heart and humility set a standard difficult to match. And of course, she revealed the love in her heart for family with that pumpkin pie like only her hands could make.

You are the light of the world,

Richard +

www.reflectingthesavior.org