Tags
Christian spirituality, Family traditions, future hope, Modeling the faith, mother and daughter, Praying for our children
photo by Shannon Fitzgerald
The Facebook post revealed a photo of blackberry cobbler just like Mom used to make. That looks SO good! The ingredients suggested it would taste good, too. I decided to give the recipe a try.
Soon, in the grocery store blackberries were plentiful and picture perfect. Would twelve ounces of berries make 2 1/4 cups the recipe called for? I guessed the basket contents were close, and it proved to be the exact amount needed. The other ingredients were on hand, so I measured them exactly, mixed them as directed, and baked my first batch.
It turned out tasty and, to my delight, almost as good as Mom’s. I tweaked the recipe twice until it was almost perfect. Unless you’ve tried to reproduce your mother’s cooking and missed the mark, you won’t be able to appreciate the sense of victory that came with that final cobbler.
My mother let me watch her bake, but she never told me exactly how to make goodies like hers. She’d say it took “a little bit of this and a little bit of that,” which made it impossible to translate onto a recipe card. Friends of mine have expressed frustration at the same lack of clear instructions from their mothers. Our moms had the magic “touch.”
Reflecting on her talent, I realized what a high standard she set and that I unconsciously compared my cooking to hers when I’d ask, Was that lemon filling too sweet or too tart? Was the crust flaky or tough? Were the vegetables done at the same time the roast was ready?
Today we eat differently than Mother did on the farm or I did growing up. Today people lead more sedentary lives, eat less fat and sugar, more fruits and vegetables. Therefore, our children may not remember us for our cooking prowess.
What will they remember us for? What will they try to emulate?
I hope our children will remember that we tried to follow God’s recipes and instructions exactly. And when there weren’t specific instructions, we did what the law of love seemed to suggest. I hope they understand that not everything we attempted met God’s high standards, that there were times we had to tweak our behavior, grateful that Christ removed our mistakes so God could be pleased with the results. I hope they agree that following Him leads to an abundant life.
I’m so grateful our children have tasted and seen that the Lord is good. They have excellent ingredients to work with and the same instructions to follow. Their results won’t be the same as ours; but if they keep following Christ, they will have abundant lives, too. I pray they become gourmet Christians in their generation.
~Ellen Cardwell
Journeys To Mother Love 
Ellen, thank you for reminding us of the importance of serving delicious and healthy food to our families and also giving them large helpings of “the fruit of the Spirit.”
As you know, I lived for many years in Northern California also, where wild blackberries were found growing in backyards, along country roads and creeks. The wild ones have the best flavor! As a family we enjoyed going out picking. My favorite blackberry cobbler recipe came from a friend (her mother’s recipe). I’ll share it here:
Fresh Blackberry Cobbler
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup butter
1 1/2 cup flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup milk
3 cups berries (blackberries or boysenberries)
1 cup boiling water
Cream sugar and butter together. Stir together dry ingredients and mix into sugar-butter mixture a little at a time, adding the milk. Pour into a greased 9-inch square pan. Sprinkle berries over. Dot with 2 teaspoons butter. Pour boiling water over. Bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes. Serve with cream or milk poured over in bowls.
(Since I now live nearly 5,000 ft. above sea level, I would adjust the recipe for high altitude.)
— Cathy
How sweet (:>) of you to send another recipe. This one looks even better, especially since the sugar is cut in half and uses more berries.
Yes, wild blackberries are the best! Summers and weekends we went across the Bay to Larkspur. Across the street from the cabin was a wild blackberry patch, so big it was taller than we were. My sister and I would take our buckets in the morning and disappear into the thorny bushes. Sometimes the berries were dusty, and once I lost my footing and fell backward onto the thorns. But we could always count on Mom’s pulling a bubbling blackberry treat from the oven later that day. The stove was so old it fell apart when it was moved. Those were the days!