Five Grains of Corn

Being the sappy, melodramatic mom is a role I pursue with zealousness of heart. Those who are closest to me do not need wonder why holidays thrust me into a whirlpool of nostalgic sentiment. My personal recollections of childhood lead me to believe I once dwelt within a Norman Rockwell portrait, yet the scent of cow patty and pasture reminds me I am but a small town girl whose dreams of perfect family holidays are a remnant of a former life, much like Rockwell's imaginative creations. As I have welcomed another season of harvest and thanksgiving, my mind is swept away once again to a distant time in my youth, drawn to memory and reflection, to change and growth, to the family I once knew and the family I have now blended in to.

When I was younger, the Thanksgiving holiday was the precursor to the most exciting time of the year for me. Not only did I get to eat all the yummy turkey, gravy, and chicken and noodles I could stuff inside my four-foot frame, the season invited me to enter a world of fantasy and wonder, where a young girl's imagination knew no limits and the magic of the holidays blanketed the earth like the gentle flakes of the winter's first fallen snow.

My favorite activity upon waking each blessed Thanksgiving morning was drawing to the kitchen to see what dish my mother was preparing for the annual Name family celebration. The aromas of autumn and spice wafted together in a harmonious holiday melody which was inviting, warming, and comforting to my soul. My pajama-clad sisters and I would gather around our floor model RCA television to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. We particularly enjoyed the agile dancers and bursts of song, and it was always a delight to see current iconic singers featured on floats reminiscent of 1980s pop culture. Not wanting to monopolize all the festivity for ourselves, Angie and I would dress our Cabbage Patch Dolls in their Sunday best and gather them around the t.v. We would then pack their bags and load our "station wagon", a.k.a. rusty brown couch, and "drive" to destinations far and exotic, even as far as the east coast would allow. Yes, our delusions were in full gear as we socialized our dolls into the world of holiday travel, parental care, and long-distance travel etiquette. And we managed to do all this before Santa made his grand appearance in Herald Square. Impressive, isn't it?

During the afternoon hours of the day, we would gather at my paternal grandparents' home in the country, the chill of the autumn air tingling our cheeks as the pungent aroma of tobacco greeted us upon entrance into a welcoming cloud of smoke and political discussion. Those holidays of my youth were filled with humorous memories of horseback rides with cousins, taunting a lone cow who stared at us with empty black eyes, wrestling puppies of mixed breed and hue vying for our individual attentions, and feeding my grandfather's pigeons, the dirtiest and most beloved birds in all of Harrison Township.

Amidst the bounteous array of red, white, and gamey meats served on a bed of corn bread stuffing, lived a happy family. A hillbilly family, but a happy family nonetheless.

Now that I am an adult, I no longer gather at my grandparents' home in the country. The place of my birth is a long 1700 mile journey, yet the distance in my mind is but a few short steps. As I have married and had children of my own, my traditions have changed, and the lineup has been altered as well. My nuclear and blended families have grown to over 40 in number, and crowd control requires advanced academy training. Investing in ear plugs is a must, and if you desire a seat at the dinner table, you learn to eat in shifts.

Before a blessing is offered upon the meal, my stepmother shares a story written by Sterling W. Sill from his book The Glory of the Sun. Sterling Sill is a deceased LDS General Authority and two-decade author of the Spoken Word. He reflects upon the circumstances culminating in the first Thanksgiving, and enlightens his readers to the sacred underpinnings of life on the chosen land. When the pilgrims were traversing the stormy seas in search of a new home, their rations grew painfully bare. Each passenger was allowed but five grains of corn per day, and these grains have come to represent much in the way of human perseverance and a driving force more powerful than the tides of sea. In his historic rendering, Elder Sill compares five grains of corn to the five great blessings given to us by deity. In respective order, these blessings are as follows: our life, our great abundance (e.g. food), our nation (formed under the hand of God), our ability to work, and our living God.

I couldn't agree more with Elder Sill as my understanding and gratitude for these blessings have grown throughout my years. I have been led to a deeper appreciation of the Lord's hand in my life, even through my seemingly disjointed journey of inspiration, ambition, strife, humility, and redemption.

I wish I could squeeze my current life's picture into the dreamy escapes of Norman Rockwell's framed treasures. Although I love any excuse for celebration and time off from work, the winter holiday season is a bittersweet time for me. I find joy in the hope of what could be, yet sadness in all that I can no longer hold on to. Although the storms of the sea occasionally toss me to and fro, I need only remind myself that the Lord has provided me with my own five grains. To the naked eye, they may not appear as much, yet upon closer inspection, they may provide just enough nourishment to help me reach the place of my harvest. A great sentiment, perhaps, but if I am proven differently, there's always holiday football, right?

A few highlights from yesterday evening's dinner:


Xavier will have nothing to do with his Grandpa Skip. We had a bit of a breakthrough when he brought Grandpa a sword and challenged him to a duel. He wouldn't hug Grandpa goodbye, but he was more than happy to slap him with a plastic stick.


Xavier will also not look me in the eye when he sees a camera attached to my face. Grandpa encouraged him to "Get Mommy", and voila! A face shot.

I have much to be thankful for this holiday season. You can believe I count my loyal friends among my best blessings. I may not often speak with you, or visit as frequently as I would like, yet I enjoy treasured memories, and have created my own version of the Saturday Evening Post. It may not be the most beautiful picture ever captured, but I have discovered grains of corn often taste sweeter than they appear. Wouldn't you agree?