NO CHICKEN FOR ME PLEASE

When I was around nine or ten years old, I lived in the small town of Theo, Mississippi with my grandmother, and two of my younger sisters. The town was only a few square miles in size, so we could walk to the store, or walk to visit our aunt or any of the neighbors my grandmother decided to visit. We didn’t have a car, but our aunt did, so if we needed to go outside our little community, she would take us.

One day, we walked to the store, and on our way back home, we stopped to visit one of the neighbors who was friends with my grandmother. They had known each other for many years.

She was cooking the next meal for her family so she invited us inside to visit while she cooked.

She asked my grandmother if we would like to stay, and eat with them. My grandmother thanked her for the invitation and accepted it. I was thinking, sure, okay, I’m a little hungry. I could eat something. She said, “We’re having chicken. Shake ‘n Bake chicken.” She had my attention because I loved chicken.

We were good kids, at least in other people’s homes. We were taught to be quiet and not interrupt while grownups were talking, so we sat still and were quiet, for the most part, as the adults talked, and laughed.

Then she started to prepare the chicken to cook. Back then, I don’t remember ever seeing chicken pre-cut, so the chicken was whole, and you had to cut it up yourself before cooking, so that’s what she did first. Then she washed the pieces of chicken and put them in a bowl.

Then, she put the Shake ‘n Bake mix in the bag and dropped a few pieces of chicken into the mix. Then, she proceeded to put the bag to her mouth and blow into it like a balloon filling it with air from her mouth. Then she started shaking it to coat the chicken with the breading.

“Oh, God! Help me, Jesus! Please get me out of here” That’s kind of what I was screaming in my mind. There was no way I was going to eat that chicken after what I just saw. I couldn’t tell them I didn’t want to eat it because I thought what she did was nasty, but I couldn’t even imagine eating it. So I told my grandmother I wanted to go home. I insisted and persisted. I told her I didn’t feel good, and I really didn’t after what I had just witnessed. I begged her, “Please, let’s go home. Please.” I begged, and pled with her until she finally gave in, and we went home.

In Luke 18:1-8, Jesus told a parable about a Persistent Widow. In verse 1, he tells us the meaning of the parable is that we should always pray and not give up until we get an answer.

1 Thessalonians 5:17, says to “pray without stopping.” We need to be in a constant state of prayer. We need to keep our connection with God open at all times, not only when we need something or want something. He’s always there, so we can talk to him all day long just like we would with any other friend.

We may not always get the answer we want, and the answer may not come immediately, but when we have some specific need, we should keep asking until he answers us.

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THE FLOOR, THE CAMERA, AND THE SANDWICH

I’ve already told you about my oldest memory, well I think this is my second oldest one. I remembered playing on the living room floor with a small toy car or truck in that little house my grandma was renting from the Richardsons in Theo, Mississippi. They also owned one of the little country stores that were there at the time.

I remember rolling a small ball around on the same floor. The floor wasn’t level so the ball would roll by itself. All I had to do was place it at the high point of the floor and let it go, then it would roll a couple of feet to hit the baseboard, and then come to a stop in the corner. I recall doing that over and over again. It never got old.

I also remember that part of the linoleum was torn back from the wall revealing another layer of older linoleum that was not torn as far from the wall as the top layer. The edges had been tacked down with those little black tacks. The raw wood floor was made of narrow boards, probably four or five inches wide.

Even though we moved from there when I was six or seven, I can still see much of the house in my mind. We have several pictures of the outside but I don’t think there were ever any taken on the inside. My grandmother had one of those old square shutter cameras without a flash. That’s the camera she used until she died. It had a viewfinder bubble, so you had to hold the camera down in front of you to see the image you wanted to take. Then you pushed a small handle down with your thumb to snap the picture. Then you had to manually turn a knob on the side to roll the film into position to take the next picture. They needed plenty of light to take a good picture so to get the best picture quality, outside on a sunny day was ideal.

The siding on the house was made of the same stuff roofing shingles are made from today but it was in big sheets. The roof was covered with corrugated sheets of rusty tin, and there was a small porch at the front of the house where my grandmother would often sit and watch us play in the front yard. We never got too far away from her. She was our protection and our lifeline and I guess we knew it even at such a young age.

In the backyard, we had a small garden in the summer. I remember almost stepping on a snake in that garden and being pulled back by my aunt just in time. When my grandmother first told me the story of Peter Rabbit, that was the garden I pictured in my mind. There was a clothesline strung between two trees at the end of the garden.

One day as she was hanging out clothes, I noticed a knot on a tree, about a foot up from the ground. I ran and jumped on the knot with one foot, then pushed myself off of it and landed back on the ground. I liked that, so I did it again. My grandmother said to me, “Stop before you get hurt.” I thought to myself, “Just one more time.” As I jumped up one last time, my foot slipped off the knot, and instead of bouncing off the tree, my chin slid down the tree, ripping the skin off in several strips. Owhhhhhhhh! I still remember the pain and embarrassment.

Closer to the house there was a spot where the wood for the heater was piled each winter. One winter we had a pile of slabs from the sawmill. I remember picking up boards about two feet long and throwing them higher onto the woodpile. That was also the spot where we would later tie our dog named Clete that we got from our uncle.

It was cold outside, but we were usually pretty warm in our little house, thanks to my grandmother, and our little wood heater, both provided by God, by the way. There was a pan to put the ashes into before carrying them out of the house when the heater would get too full. It always stayed in front of the heater to catch anything that might fall out while stoking the fire or putting more wood in.

I don’t remember where we had been that day, but we had just come home. My grandmother started a fire and put a couple of chairs in front of the heater so we could get warmed up while she fixed us something to eat. Soon, she brought me and my sister each a sandwich on a plate, and then went back into the kitchen.

Now, I never remember wasting food unless it tasted really bad, or unless I found a hair in it, but my little sister was a picky eater. If she didn’t want it, she got rid of it. She took one of her pieces of bread off her sandwich and threw it in the ash pan. Then she folded her other piece in half around her bologna slice.

When our grandmother came back from the kitchen, she saw that piece of bread in the ashpan. For some reason, she slapped me on the leg as she asked me, “Why did you throw that piece of bread in there?” I started crying. I think it was more because she accused me of something I didn’t do, more than the actual slap itself. When I explained what had actually happened, she apologized. After I stopped crying, I finished my sandwich and went on with my life.

I tell you that story because I remember it, not because I hold a grudge against my grandmother. She wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes, just like all parents do, but she loved us and she did the best she could. I don’t hold any grudges against my mom and dad for not raising us either. Too often, people can’t move on in life because they refuse to forgive their parents for the mistakes they made in raising them, but holding on to anger will eat you up inside and you’ll be a miserable person. It robs you of God’s blessings and his forgiveness.

Jesus said if we don’t forgive others, then God won’t forgive us (Matthew 6:14-15). If we’re not forgiven then we won’t make it to heaven, and that would be sad. So if you’re holding on to some hurt because of something someone has done to you, forgive them and be free from that burden Give it to Jesus and move on. Instead of dwelling on hurtful memories, choose to remember good times. The more time we spend with the good memories, the less time we’ll have to think about the bad ones. Try it. It really helps.

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GOD PROTECTS AND PROVIDES

Another memory of my early childhood took place when I was somewhere between three and five years old. My sister and I live with our grandmother in a small house in Theo, Mississippi. We didn’t have running water, but God had put a spring in the woods behind the house. I don’t remember me and my sister going there many times, though. It was a good distance from the house and down a steep hill. 

I remember a man in an old green car bringing us water in glass orange juice jugs. His name was Jimbo. We helped our grandmother carry those jugs of water, that God had provided for us, into the house, and into the kitchen, where she put them on the counter, beside the sink. 

At some point, we got a water faucet outside, by the front porch. Then we didn’t have to carry water from the spring or have someone else bring us water. We were living the life then. It reminds me of the time God made water come out of a rock, to provide for his people in the wilderness.

One day I went to get some water from the faucet and saw a spider hanging there. When it saw me it quickly climbed up its web and went inside the faucet. I had my own “Itsy, Bitsy Spider.” At least that’s what I thought at the time. I was quite a bit older before I realized that a water spout and a faucet were two different things.

I remember a lot that happened while we lived there, in that little house in Theo. I remember my Aunt and uncle, and cousins coming to visit. Our cousins were older than us, but they would always make a mess in our kitchen, and leave without cleaning it up. After they would leave, we would help our grandmother clean up, and get the place back like it was before they came. We loved our home that God had provided for us.

One time, while our uncle and his family were visiting, my sister ran into his open car door and cut the corner of her eye. She did the same thing with our dad’s car door. I don’t remember which one happened first, but she ended up with almost identical scars on both eyes. She was blessed that her eyes were not badly damaged.

My grandmother kept food beside the bed for us in case we woke up hungry, and I remember waking up and eating in bed. I never remember going hungry. God has always provided food for us as far back as I can remember. 

Our neighbor would get drunk some nights and would be mean to his wife, and son. I remember waking up on more than one occasion and seeing them sitting in our living room in the middle of the night. God provided a safe place for them while that man was drunk.

Another time, a man was mowing our yard, and my grandmother was outside doing something. The mower hit a wire clothes hanger and flung it right into her leg. It made a big bloody mess. She came in with the wire sticking out of her leg, and if I remember correctly, she had to get some pliers to pull it out. She bled like a stuck hog, but thankfully, it didn’t do any real damage.

A few years before that, when my sister was two years old, she had a bad accident. It was winter, and we had a wood heater. Somehow she fell over on it, and just laid there screaming, with her head touching the heater, for what seemed like forever. I don’t even think she went to the doctor, though. They just put something in a tube on it and fixed her right up. To this day, though, there is a spot on my sister’s head where no hair will grow, but thankfully, it’s only about the size of a quarter, and her other hair covers it. 

We were in the garden one day, and my aunt screamed, grabbed me, and pulled me back. She saw the snake just before I stepped on it. I could have been bitten, but thank God I wasn’t.

Another time, when I was five years old, I was on the front porch, and a hornet stung me right between the eyes. I was allergic to bee stings, and I started swelling fast. There was a house church in our neighborhood, and they happened to be having service. My grandmother, and my mother, took me there for prayer. I remember everybody praying, and all the while, my eyes were swelling tighter, and tighter, until I couldn’t see anymore. I must have passed out because that’s the last I remember about that. 

For years, I thought God didn’t answer their prayer, but he did. They were praying for me to be okay, and not die. I did tell you I was allergic to bee stings, didn’t I? As a matter of fact, I was stung several more times over the years, and now I’m barely allergic at all. I guess my body has built up an immunity to the toxin. God knows what he’s doing. We can trust him, and as we look back at our past, we can see many times when God took care of us, protected us, and even though we may have suffered pain, he often saved us from something much worse.

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THE HORSE THAT ALMOST REACHED THE SKY

When I was five years old, my sister and I lived with our grandmother in a place called Theo, in Mississippi. One day a man came by our house on a big, beautiful horse. This was the first time I had seen one up close in person. Not a man, I mean a horse. I’ve seen men before, although this was the first time I had seen this man. His name was Mr. Garrett. Later, I found out that my grandmother had known him for many years.

He talked to her for a bit as his horse made a few funny noises. It acted scared at first, but it finally calmed down. Mr. Garrett asked if we wanted to ride the horse. I quickly said, “No.” It was too high off the ground. To me, it seemed as tall as the sky. My sister wanted to ride, though. She was four and wasn’t afraid. I don’t know if I was afraid, or just cautious, but I didn’t know this man, and I had never seen a horse in person before.

Mr. Garrett reached down from the tall horse to pick up my sister as my grandmother lifted her up to him. He sat her on the saddle in front of him and held her with one hand so she wouldn’t fall. She looked so small up there, and so far away. She didn’t say much, but she smiled and seemed to enjoy it. He made the horse walk around in short circles for a few minutes, then he stopped, and handed my sister back down to my grandmother.

He said he would see us later, he had to be going, and just as quick as he had shown up, he was gone. My sister and I smiled at each other and went back to our lives at our little house, there in Theo.

I miss those days. I miss being a kid. We had no worries. We had our godly grandmother to watch over us, and protect us. I miss her so much, but I have many wonderful memories of my life with her and all my family for that matter. When I’m sad, feeling down, or just tired, I can think of one of those happy memories, and it always makes me smile.

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© 2016 Teddy Lynn – All Rights Reserved

My books are available in paperback and digital format on Amazon @
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