Category Archives: Small town life

A knock at the door…on Christmas Eve

14 Sunday Dec 2014

Posted by in Events, Seasons, Small town life

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US 51 bypassed Minonk many years before we moved there, so not many travelers stopped at the church for assistance, and fewer came to the parsonage, which was a nondescript ranch-style house several blocks south of the church. That may explain why I chose the meditation topic for Christmas Eve 1986 without a second thought—finding room for strangers. The town had not had much practice with that theme, though the rough area economy, and the deteriorating and vacant housing in the rural community were preparing the ground for some changes. I preached it, a safe distance away from Bethlehem two thousand years ago. The late candlelight communion service was beautiful, of course. Families packed the pews and shared customary greetings at the benediction.

After the lights were out and the church doors locked, on that cold icy night, we drove home with our  teenage children and prepared for bed, when the knock came at the door. I pulled my pants over my pajama bottoms, and went to answer, with some trepidation. There stood a man in dirty, disheveled clothing, with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, asking if I could help him find a room for the night. He introduced himself as Goodman.

“Well, Mr. Goodman,” I answered without much enthusiasm, “You’ve come to the right place. I don’t know how you found me, and I can’t promise much, but we’ll find you a room.” I invited him inside, thinking of all those times I remembered when such an invitation did not turn out well. We had a sleeper sofa. The nearest motel was fifteen miles away. As Jan gave him something to drink and eat,  I called that motel and found that they still had a room available for the night. At Midnight I found myself driving Mr. Goodman south to El Paso, listening to a hard-luck story, and trying to encourage a man to hold onto hope that things would get better for him.  And wondering about the mysterious ways….

That was the only night that we had such a visitor knock on our door seeking shelter, in the eight years we lived at Minonk, and it was on Christmas Eve, when I preached about welcoming strangers.

the welcomers

21 Friday Nov 2014

Posted by in Caring, People, Small town life

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“Eldon and I are your neighbors– a block north of your home. We’d be glad for you to stop in anytime. You are always welcome for tea.” What was left unsaid, but became clear later was the rest of the invitation, “We will be glad to adopt you as our own children, and your children as our grandchildren, for as long as you are here, and in our hearts forever.” The Johnsons were like that. They had welcomed the previous ministers at their church, and they would welcome succeeding ones.  

They gave an open invitation, which they always accommodated, with a few understandable exceptions when they were gone on a trip or in the midst of a project, from which they could always take a hospitality break. Retired from managing the local grocery business Eldon made time for fishing trips with the children, along with his other grandchildren, and games of pool in the den of their little house. They taught them to “chicken dance” and pick strawberries and other things that parents may not have remembered to teach. Eldon and Louise also seldom missed a worship service, taking their position in the front under the high pulpit. He had missed enough, he said, in the working years when the grocery required his attention.  

When many others did not invite visits and seemed to resent my effort to make a home appointment as too much of an intrusion on a busy schedule, the Johnsons were always true to their word. The teapot was always on. They had their own opinions about matters being discussed, which they expressed in considerate, thoughtful ways whether they were in disagreement or support. It was clear from the first that their mission was to make loving relationships. They also cooperated with the church’s decisions once made, and were usually available to help, even with hard projects like putting a new acoustical ceiling in the Fellowship Hall, or tearing out the wood floor to lay concrete. If there had not been another person in that community of such character (and there certainly were others), the time there would still have been wonderful. 

Louise gradually lost her vision, and Eldon became her caretaker as other health problems accumulated. She still wrote a note stating that they were enjoying their private “nursing home” and still kept us in their prayers. Eldon died suddenly. Louise lived out her final stage of hospitality in a nearby nursing home.  

As we approach Thanksgiving and Christmas we remember Eldon and Louise putting out the lights around their house, and a constant buffet spread of desserts and delicacies for all their guests. Like their Savior they will live forever, and not only in our “hearts.”

Making mincemeat of it

26 Sunday Oct 2014

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100_5990[1]    Mincemeat was an obsession that my mother developed as she prepared for the holidays. In this she was tutored by a neighbor and fellow church member Myrtle Overstreet. Mrs. Overstreet had the secret recipe for mincemeat that was passed down through several generations, and she kept it in the bank under lock and key. When she saw that her days were numbered, and having no qualified children, she considered all her coworkers at the church for the person to entrust with this precious recipe, and she awarded the responsibility to my mother. In order to qualify she had to be trustworthy, a perfectionist as close to herself as possible, an excellent cook, and attentive to the slightest details of the recipe.

Mincemeat does not please everyone, but no one can argue with the goodness of the ingredients. One begins with the best and rarest beef one can find (neck meat), Jonathan apples, raisins and muscat raisins, cinnamon and cloves, unsweetened pineapple juice and grape juice and apple cider and apple cider vinegar, white and brown sugar, and raw suet. Driving for miles just to find the best ingredients was mandatory. It consumed many hours of my parents’ time, since mother involved father in the project when it came to the regional search for ingredients. Everything had to be coordinated so that the ingredients were as fresh as possible, so that October was the month of search, in between the days of harvest on the farm.

The recipe made 10 gallons of mincemeat, and it stipulates that no more than two batches should be prepared in one day, and those should be mixed in the afternoon. The preparations began the day before in the morning when all sugar, raisins, currants, cider and 1 can of pineapple juice were put to soak, then refrigerated by nightfall. Next morning the suet and two half-gallons of grape juice were added when the whole mixture was set out to reach room temperature by noon. Also in the morning the 16 pounds of beef neck meat was cooked and then ground. Then it was mixed with a gallon of cider, 2 tall cans of unsweetened pineapple juice, 2 to 3 jars of Welch’s grape juice, and 2 ½ gallons of Krafts’ canned grape drink. The apples were peeled and chopped fine, and the spices, and the rest of the juice and vinegar were added and thoroughly mixed. (Since this involved nearly seventy five pounds of ingredients, did anyone require any extra exercise?) The whole mixture was put into as many jars or freezer containers as needed, by pints and quarts, and sealed, either by the usual canning process or by freezing in double-sacked containers. (A more detailed ingredient list is available.)

The mincemeat mixture is added to various recipes or pie shells and baked when people are ready to use it. The shelf life of this mixture is unknown. The last stock that my mother made was twenty years old when we ate the last of it, using one or two quarts a year, and we did not notice any lessening of the quality. You may note that a limited amount of fermentation occurs in the original process.

After Mrs. Overstreet’s death, and a discreet waiting period of a couple of years, mother printed the recipe and instructions for anyone who was interested, and distributed it freely. Whether Mrs. Overstreet turned over in her grave or not has not been determined. Anyway the secret is out, although I’m not certain that anyone can follow it. How many recipes for life experience have such a history?