Mom's Chili

Days like today are, as my Mom used to say, "Chili days". Wet, windy, cooling temperatures, and falling leaves are a perfect recipe for chili and, in my opinion, my Mom made some of the very best chili there ever was.

Oh, Mom's chili would never have won any of the Chili Cook-Off Contests you see around here today, nor would you have probably have selected it as your best. No, Mom's chili was best in my heart precisely because Mom made it . . . and I'm fairly certain many of you could say the same about your Mom's chili. There is something about the sweetness of anticipation when you know your Mom is making you one of your favorite meals which, when finally you gather around the table to eat, will not only fill your belly, but warm your soul. Mom's chili wasn't spicy hot, nor was it filled lots of other 'stuff' to make it unique. Mom's chili was loaded with ground beef, mild chili beans out of a can, some of Mom's canned tomatoes from the Summer garden, a dash of chili powder, just enough sugar to make it sweet and, of course, Mom's love . . . and it was the last ingredient that you could palpably taste in every bite. Mom's love. Even sitting here today, years removed from the last chili that Mom ever made while I was sitting at her table, it is the love that still comes through.

Mom passed from this life into life eternal nearly eleven years ago, still I can smell her chili cooking on the stove, still I can hear her laughter as 'her boys' came in the back porch door, patted her on the backside and kissed her on the cheek, and still I can see her watching as everyone around the table filled their bowls from the big pot on the center of the table and took their first bite . . . and now, years removed from those days, I am beginning to understand the two reasons why she waited: the first I was always aware of, was to be sure there was plenty enough to go around - and there was always plenty enough to go around, (Mom would take less or eat something else if there were more people around the table than chili in the pot); and the second was, I think, just to see the look of pleasure which would cross our faces as we sampled some of the best chili in the world. Mom loved to see her boys happy . . . and chili made us happy.

In my mind, that is why God gives us days like today: God loves Mom's chili, too. In the changing of the seasons, in the damp of weather fronts moving through, in the winds of the approaching cold, God knows that Mom will be moved to make her chili . . . now in heaven as once on earth and, I suspect, God can't wait, either. It is a happy thought for me, so allow me my memory and this seasonal smile.

Yet, I do believe that it is through such memories that we are blessed by God to continue the love and wonder of relationship throughout the generations. My children and my grandchildren and their children and grandchildren after them will never know the wonder of my Mom's chili, which in some small way makes me sad, for they have missed the work of a great cook. Still, in the telling of the story, in relating the moment, in speaking of the person, perhaps they will become inheritors of the greatest ingredient in Mom's chili. Perhaps they will know her through her love - and see the kindness in her face as she laughed when we kissed her on the cheek or smiled with pleasure at the first spoon full of chili.

And if it is so in what I can share with you of my Mom's chili, then how much more so when I tell you of the God in Whom we all have life? I think the Apostle Paul said it best in the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, the thirteen verse: "Now faith, hope and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love." . . . for Love is the gift which makes everything better, in every generation. Try it in your chili sometime. Better yet, try it in your care for each other.

Love you, Mom.