SermonStudio

Larry Winebrenner

My grandmother was an unforgiving woman.

She lived on a farm in South Carolina, with a peach tree in the backyard. When any of her children, a couple hardly older than me, or any grandchild misbehaved, she grabbed a switch from that peach tree and peppered welts on our little legs for the transgression. It didn't matter whether the act was deliberate or an accident -- out came the peach tree switch. There was no escaping it.

One day I accidentally (and carelessly, I might add) knocked her favorite tea pitcher off the kitchen table and broke it. My grandmother was out taking the slop to the pigs, but not for long. I could hear her coming up the back steps to the porch, which was just outside the kitchen. There was no escape that way. I knew some of the family were in the living room and would see me fleeing out the front door, so there was no escape that way. I was still small enough to crawl into the cabinet under the sink, so I quickly jumped in there and closed the door.

Just in time! I heard my grandmother shriek when she walked into the kitchen. She set the slop bucket down and screamed, "Who broke my tea pitcher?"

There was a trampling of feet as everyone in the family came scrambling into the house. There was a chorus of "Not me," "It wasn't me," "I don't know," and the like. Then came those dreaded words as Grandmother said, "Where's Larry?"

My heart sank. I was really in for it. No one knew where I was, and at that moment, I wasn't about to tell.

"Go find him," commanded Grandmother. "Edna, go get a new switch off the peach tree."

Boy, was I in for it. I shriveled up into myself, trying to make myself small enough to crawl out through the mouse hole in the wall. I hardly breathed. To make it worse, Grandmother didn't leave the kitchen. She went on preparing supper while the family went out looking for me.

The first person to report in was Carroll, an uncle a year older than me, and normally a staunch companion and playmate. Grandmother on the war path broke down all alliances. He had searched diligently for me, whether to warn me or to rat on me, I didn't know, but I suspected that in the light of Grandmother's demands it was the latter.

"Mama," he said. "I've looked everywhere he might hide and I couldn't find him."

I had to struggle to keep from snickering.

"Keep looking," she demanded, and he went back out. Gradually others came in to report. "He's not out in the toilet," Robert said. All we had was an outdoor privy, and that's what he was talking about. "He's not out in the garden or chicken house," said Edna. To each report Grandmother gave the same command: "Keep looking."

Meanwhile my legs began to cramp and my feet went to sleep.
When Granddaddy came home from the field down the road and on the other side of the pine woods, she asked, "Did you see Larry on the way home?"

"No. Why? Is he lost?"

"More like hiding," said Grandmother, and she explained what happened.

"Well, let's eat. He'll be home for supper, I'll guarantee that. That boy eats more than any two grown men I've ever seen. I don't know why he's so skinny," said Granddaddy.

"He eats so much it makes him poor to carry it," Grandmother observed as she went out on the back porch to ring the dinner bell.

When everyone came in, each reporting no luck in finding me, she said, "Wash up and get ready for supper." To Edna she said, "Set the table."

The back porch was closed in and a table for regular meals was out there with a bench on each side for the kids and a chair on each end for Granddaddy and Grandmother. When they were all seated and Granddaddy had said grace, they started eating. There was no conversation about me because it was a firm rule that you didn't talk about anything at meals.

Once, when my father was visiting for Sunday dinner, he chatted away like he was sitting in the parlor. I thought Grandmother was going to run out and get a peach tree switch, but she only glared at him.

In my hiding place in the kitchen I could hear the rattle of dishes, the clink of silver on plates, the sound of Granddaddy smacking as he chewed with his mouth open. We were always told to "chew with you mouth closed" by Grandmother, but she never told Granddaddy that. The smell of collard greens, pork chops, gravy to go on the rice, homemade pickles, sliced tomatoes, and everything they were eating wafted through the closed door. My belly gurgled so loudly I was afraid they'd hear it.

After supper, Granddaddy spoke. "Robert, you and Carroll go milk the cows and take care of the animals. Annie (to my grandmother), let the dishes go for now. It will be dark before long. You and me and Edna better go look for Larry. If he didn't answer that dinner bell, he's sure lost. He may have fallen in the old well or gotten lost in the woods. We've got to find him."

For the first time I heard a note of concern in my grandmother's voice. "I don't know what's gotten into that boy. Yeah, we better go look for him."

Even though the house was empty, I didn't dare come out of my hiding place. To my young mind I suspected this was a ruse cooked up to get me to reveal myself. Before long I dozed off.

Suddenly, I awoke with a start and hit my head on the sink. "Mama!" Edna was yelling. "He's here, under the sink!" I didn't know how long I'd slept -- it was pure dark outside -- but I knew the time of judgment had come. Grandmother grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged me from under the sink. She picked me up like a rag doll and shook me till my teeth chattered.

"Why did you scare the life out of us like that?" she cried.

When she quit shaking me enough that I could speak I said, "I was afraid you'd kill me for breaking your old tea pitcher and I didn't have any way to run away."

She looked at me in shock and set me on my feet. My legs were still asleep and I collapsed to the floor. She didn't pick me up. She just looked down at me. "Honey, I'd never kill you," she said softly.

I knew I was as good as dead, so I spoke my mind. "Yes, you would. When you get mad all you think about is yourself. You care more about that old tea pitcher than you do about me."

She looked at me a minute, then fled to her bedroom. Granddaddy picked me up and took me out to the table. All the food was still there. Edna had been looking under the sink to get the dishpan, so nothing had been done yet to "rid up" the table. Granddaddy put a big pork chop on my plate and some rice with collard greens on top the way I liked to eat them.

"Eat something," he told me. As I sat munching on the food, he talked to me.

"Annie doesn't hate you, boy. She loves you like one of her own children. If she punishes you, it's the same way she punishes her own children. She does that to make you good." He thought a moment as I chewed the last bit of meat off the bone and wiped my mouth on my shoulder sleeve. I reached for another chop. I didn't mind that they were cold. I love pork chops. He continued, "You know why you come stay on the farm every summer? It's because you're so wild your mother can't handle you. Now I don't mean you're bad wild. And I don't mean your mother doesn't love you."

"I know," I said. "Mother loves me very much. She tells me that all the time."

"Well, so does your grandmother. And she wants everyone else to love you. That's why she works so hard to make you good," he told me.

I'd never heard my grandfather talk so gently and so kindly. I looked carefully at him to see if he was putting on an act prior to slapping me from the table, but no, he was earnest. I saw tears glistening in his eyes.

"My grandmother hates me," I said without malice, but with conviction.

"Have you ever heard your grandmother lie about anything? Ever?"

"No," I said.

"Then, go in there and ask her if she loves you," he said. It was not a command, but it was a direction that was not to be disobeyed.

I jumped down off the bench, wiped my hands on the seat of my pants, and marched myself into her bedroom. She was lying face down on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Grandmother," I said tentatively.

She rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of the sheet, but they remained red and swollen.

"Do you love me?" I asked.

She burst into tears again and clasped me to her breast, almost squeezing the breath from me. "Yes," she said, "Yes. Yes, I do. When I thought you were lost all kinds of fears raced through my mind. What if you were kidnapped? What if you had gotten lost in the woods and were hurt and scared. What if you ran away and were lost to me forever. My heart was breaking."

"Why are you crying?" I asked.

She took my shoulders, held me out in front of her and looked me in the eye. "When you told me that I loved that tea pitcher more than I loved you, I realized there was a little bit of truth to that. I didn't really love it more than I loved you, of course, but I realized I loved things. Yet, people are so much more important than things. I just hadn't thought about that. I knew it must look to you like I loved that pitcher more than I loved you. I couldn't stand it. I love you. I want you to know I love you."

Then she asked me a question that shook me to the roots of my soul. "Do you love me?"

I didn't know how to answer that. I had never thought about that. Did I love my grandmother, the one who cut peach tree switches to wear out on me? I saw the tears welling up in her eyes as I struggled with the question. I wasn't going to lie to her. I might say, "I don't know," or "I'm trying," but that wasn't the question. The question was, "Did I love her?" All at once a kind of light dawned. What hurt me most when she punished me was my fear that she didn't love me. That wouldn't matter unless I loved her. But now she was telling me forthrightly that she did love me. I didn't have to worry about that any more. My grandmother didn't lie. Ever.

"Yes," I said. "I love you very much."

We hugged, and she cried, and I cried.

The revelation that each of us experienced was like the wind of God blowing over becalmed waters to billow sails and move the mighty Cutty Sark. It was like a gentle breeze wafting through the sun-drenched garden and over sweat-drenched bodies, bringing relief and comfort. The Spirit of grace entered that little house in one tiny corner of the world, revealing the source of all love.

My grandmother still switched me when I misbehaved, but I always knew it was to make me good so people would love me.