I don’t know about y’all, but fall is such a comforting time of the year for me. Pumpkin spiced latte? Nah! I’m a black coffee kind of gal, but I do switch mugs depending on what frame of mind I’m in. My ideal sunset evening is sitting at the fire pit with My Stanley with a big mug of hot coffee. We have already had two fire pit nights, even though the temps are still in the 90s here in Arkansas; obviously we didn’t think that through, so we will just migrate to the back porch until the weather is a little more suitable; we like coffee there, too, with our cat, Tuna. Comfort at its finest! Thankfully there are still some things that Covid hasn’t affected!
This time of the year seems to open up the floodgates of my mind with memories spent with my precious momma in her kitchen. (Disclaimer: I did not, by any stretch of the imagination, master the art of cooking while I was growing up. It’s not that my momma didn’t try to teach me; I could always change her mind if I begged (and begged) and offered to do some other kind of chore outside. I’m happy to report that I can now cook a fairly decent meal - on some days.) But oh, the smells that would come from my momma’s kitchen! One of my favorite aromas was when she would make jelly or jam. That childhood “smell memory” would take me right back to picking wild blackberries at the far side of the pasture by the fence. We always came home with more chiggers than blackberries, but it was so worth it. My momma would always make it a fun time; she would pack a picnic lunch for us, usually just a bologna sandwich and a fruit jar of tea or Kool Aid. We would sit beside the little creek that was in the nearby woods to have our feast, and that’s when we were in our happy place. Comfort. We would talk about the cloud formations and she would always remind me that this very cloud just might be the one that Jesus comes back on. One of the last memory smells I have from her kitchen was on a Saturday when I had made an impromptu visit right before My Stanley and I got married. (There were many other countless meals we got to share there in that little kitchen with my mom and dad, but somehow Alzheimer’s found its way to my momma and things changed.) But that particular Saturday, I dropped in and she was in the kitchen cooking a big lunch of fried sweet potatoes, turnip greens, pinto beans and cornbread; southern food at its finest! I can not only savor those wonderful smells, but I can still feel her big hug, and in my mind's eye see the pure joy of a surprise visit. That memory is burned into my mind, and I’m not even sure why, but it was on a fall day and we had one of the best visits we ever had. Comfort.
My happy place, my comfort place, is the beach; any beach, anywhere, especially if we get to share those beachcations with our good friends. I wouldn’t turn down a beach trip ever, but our most desired vacation time is early winter when the beaches are almost totally deserted. Seven days of beach comfort includes watching the sunrise from the balcony with a big mug of hot coffee, then going to the shoreline to gather shells. My mind can conjure up the sounds of the waves, the smell of the salt air, the shrill cry of the pesky seagulls. It is pure heaven to this old country girl. A couple of years ago on our last day of beachcation, as I walked the beach one last time, I was wishing I could find just one decent sized shell. I am not picky at all about shells, and had found hundreds of small shells and pieces of larger shells, but I was just wishing, “just one big shell”. And God, in His amazingness, granted that insignificant desire of my heart, and placed my bare toes on the biggest shell I had ever found. And now, that big-by-my-standards shell has a place of prominence with my collection of beachcation shells - not because of the size, because it wasn’t huge, but because I was reminded that day on the beach that God not only answers prayers, He sometimes will also pay attention to our wishes too. Comfort.
Comfort. We surely take a lot for granted. I think our concept of comfort is drastically different from even a generation ago. But comfort comes to soothe all aspects of our being; comfort food, comfort smells, comfort places, comfort memories. When we need to be comforted, really comforted, what do we turn to? When I have my first mug of morning coffee, I know that I can get another, and another, and another. I know where to go to get more. But our souls need to be comforted too. And I promise you that Jesus Christ can take the bleakest of situations and replace the frantic worry in your heart and mind with pure peace and comfort. Our situations may not change, but the comfort remains. This I know firsthand. And like that empty coffee mug, we know where we can go to get more. Sit down. Take a load off. Have yourself a cuppa comfort.
“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you; I will uphold you with my righteous hand.”
Isaiah 41:10
“Who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to
comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which
we ourselves are comforted by God.”
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
