Do you remember when you first started cooking? I do. I was definitely not the Paula Dean of my home town.
The first meal I cooked for my husband and his family (we lived with them when we first got married) I made biscuits. Only one problem. My aunt always bought self-rising flour. Wayne's mother did not. I took great care to make sure they looked beautiful as I placed them on the pan. I wanted everyone to see I was going to be a good wife.
When the biscuits were browned, I took them out of the oven to find them looking more like pancakes . . . round and somewhat flat. I'm slow in some areas so I hadn't yet figured out why they were so flat. I prayed they would still taste good. I knew that prayer wasn't answered when I placed them on the platter and they made a sound kind of like, Boing! Boing!
When my father-in-law saw the biscuits, he realized the problem. He told me Nanny always used plain flour. I was mortified. I just knew he was thinking his son had married a real dingbat (he later came to know it for a fact!). Then he did something that made me love him more than I already did. He grabbed a biscuit off the plate, took a bite and began to chew . . . and chew . . . and chew. I guess it was more like trying to gnaw a bone. Still he persisted until he had eaten a biscuit. I don't recall him asking for seconds!
What graciousness, what mercy he showed to his young daughter-in-law. Not condemnation. Just love.
Our heavenly father is like that, merciful, gracious, loving, showing us grace. Like my father-in-law, it makes me love him even more, too.
Thankful for the privilege of having a wonderful father-in-law and a wonderful heavenly Father
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