For the mountains may move and the hills disappear, but even then, My faithful love for you will remain. My covenant of blessing will never be broken,” says the Lord, who has mercy on you.” Isaiah 54:10
We were somewhere in Texas. It was probably in the early sixties, somewhere around 1962 or three. We were on vacation, which meant we were going to see my brother who lived in Texas. We are driving in our 1957 Plymouth, no air conditioning with Momma and Daddy up front and the “three little ones” spanning and filling the backseat. It was very early in the morning and best I can remember we had driven all night—probably to save time and probably to save the cost of a hotel. Well, in the very early morning, right when the darkness is fleeing, Leslie told Alston that we should stop and eat breakfast. So…we did.
It was a “mom and pop” place. Places like McDonald’s and the like didn’t exist and if they did, they were rare. However, this was a roadside diner and for the Taylor tribe it was a treat. Momma turned around and stirred us into some sort of consciousness as Daddy pulled into the parking lot. We were soon settled into a large booth and breakfast was ordered. I was going to write how I had the traditional breakfast of eggs and bacon, but I think I remember that Momma had given me a choice and I chose pancakes.
Soon our food came and still a bit sleepy, I drowned the pancakes in sweet, sticky syrup. And it was right about then it happened. In my mostly still asleep state, I tried to cut the pancakes with my fork when quickly and promptly the whole plate fell in my lap. Pancakes and syrup filled my lap…and I began to cry. It really wasn’t as much about the loss of the pancakes, as it was about the loss of my dignity. Even at that young age I knew I had made a big mess and it felt like every person in the restaurant was looking at the kid who had messed up.
Of course, that wasn’t true. The ones in the booth knew and I can’t remember their response. The other two little ones, my sisters, weren’t known for being generous with kindness so I, and perhaps unfairly, assumed they had something to say about their baby brother. And Daddy, well, he probably was like a lot of other Daddy’s and wondered what happened, how it happened and most of all, why it happened. But then there was Momma. As I remember, there were no words of condemnation for this mess I had made but rather a helping hand to begin cleaning up the mess. It seems I remember kindness when I deserved a “shaking down.” In other words, it seems she showed grace when I deserved none. It seems she showed mercy when I didn’t deserve that either.
Looking back, that seems like one of those times when Momma was a whole lot like God. Her child had made a mess and rather than judge she extended kindness. Now to be fair, Momma’s don’t always get it right…and neither do we. But that time…she did. And guess what? We have a Dearest Daddy, who gets it right every time. When we make a mess, He doesn’t chasten or belittle…no, He loves and gently helps us clean up the mess…a mess of our own making. So today or tomorrow when you find yourself with a lap full of pancakes and sticky syrup, just remember the Father sitting by you is waiting to help. You can rest assured that, “He’s got this.” Bro. Dewayne