Biscuits of Blessing Always going somewhere, never going nowhere, it’s a good thing I really love my car. Since I purchased her in Birmingham in mid-May, I’ve logged almost 10,000 miles on my odometer, had a wet dog in my back seat, traveled I-10, 20, and 59, too many highways to count, gravel roads, dirt roads, and turn rows, always with Pandora radio station “America” blaring as I accompany every artist with my raspy voice. I’ve met some amazing folks since taking my job on the road at the beginning of April, starting in Tyler, Texas. I suppose if add the miles from then until I picked up my car in Birmingham it soon becomes several thousand miles above ten. My camera always in tow, I’ve shot more than several thousand images along my ongoing journey. Of course my job as a PT has been my primary focus for obvious reason. When I’m working, that is where my head stays, attending to patients, family members, co-workers, and all who work within a skilled nursing facility rendering me capable of doing my own job. But when I leave the nursing home, I roll down the windows, hair blowing in the wind, once again in my artist mode. For the last three weeks I’ve stayed with Facebook friend, Jimmy Thompson, and her husband, Tony, in Nanih Wayia, a few miles out from Noxapater. They have not only opened their home to me, but their hearts, as well. Along with their tiny-but-overweight Chihuahua, Amos, I have been embraced with love and care by the salt-of-the-earth kind of people that make Mississippi, and America, great. Every morning, just after sunrise, I’ve left the house in Nanih Wayia, and headed to the nursing home, only to pause at the single red blinking light in Noxapater. On the northeast corner sits Woody’s, a somewhat famous-in-those-parts gas station and grab all with the best fried chicken ever (Amos loves Woody’s fried chicken!). I’m pretty boring and have ordered the same thing every morning: coffee, a buttered biscuit, and an order of bacon. The very first morning I walked into Woody’s, I met Candace while getting my cup of coffee. She was tidying up around the coffee pot, her warm smile contagious before 7:00 am. Even more warm were her engaging eyes and rich Southern lilt when she speaks. Simple exchanges have included, “hello how are you?” “hope you have a great day!” and cooking. Candace is the cook at Woody’s. Being a good Southern girl and all, I consider myself to be a pretty good cook. Also it seems that all true Steel Magnolia’s really know how to make biscuits. I most certainly do not know, nor do I attempt to make them. The few attempts I have made have been downright disastrous, with considerations of sending them to the US Hockey team for a variation in pucks. Candace knows well how to make biscuits. I asked if she would make 20 biscuits for those with whom I work in the rehab department. Her eyes danced, somewhat nervously, when she responded with “yes.” We decided I would pick them up on Friday morning. I was headed to the Coast after work on Friday and got away by 6:45 am, thinking I would leave work and get on the road a bit early. When I went to the counter at Woody’s asking for Candace, she appeared a bit distressed. After a moment she said, “You’re early. The biscuits are still in the oven. I wanted them to be hot when I gave them to you.” Wow. That was a moment. In that little speck of time, I knew Candace to be a woman who takes note and pays attention. I had really never looked at the exact time I stopped each morning, but she most certainly had. And I must say that I really didn’t expect for the biscuits to be hot when I picked them up. I told her that I would be happy to wait. Needing to get something out of my car, I was leaning over the passenger seat, when she appeared out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look at this beautiful woman proudly carrying a box covered with aluminum foil and presented it to me as though gold. I received them into my arms and placed them on the backseat. I turned to give her a hug and received a bigger one, then reached into my scrub pocket for money, when she said, “I don’t want any money.” I looked at her, incredulous that she would think me to ask for biscuits and not realize they needed to be paid for. Again she said, “I don’t want any money,” adding, “I want to bless you with these biscuits.” Once again, I stopped, my eyes welled up with her genuine generosity. Distracting myself for a moment, I asked if I might take her picture, tell her story. Reluctant, but with a smile, she agreed. I took a quick shot with my iPhone, only to reach again for the twelve dollars in my pocket, at which point she stopped. Looking at me straight in the eyes while opening the door to go back inside she said, “I really don’t want money. I did this to bless you the way others have blessed me.” Another hug and a few tears later, I got back in my car, blessed oh-so-much by Candace. I so hope I will pass on the kind of blessing Candace offered to me so freely. I hope you are blessed by reading this story. And I hope that tomorrow your goal will be to bless someone in some way, just as freely. copyright~sarah_beaugez_biscuitsOfBlessing_2014
Posted on: Wed, 20 Aug 2014 02:26:19 +0000
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