Chili and mi Madre

When I was in the third grade I learned a lot more than most of the kids my age. Or, at lease I hope not too many of them had to learn the things I did.

I learned that if mom makes $800 a month and rent is $500... we don't have enough money for legit groceries much less eating out.

I learned that $300 is more than enough when you spend your dollars wisely.

I learned that just because you don't have a lot of money, doesn't mean you're poor, it means you have a lot of room to be creative.

There was a project in the third grade that our class did. It was a fun one (at least I thought so.) Each student brought a dish (for real food) that represented their background. The Latinos brought in yummy tamales and enchiladas... the Italians brought in lasagna and pasta. But for those of us who didn't really know what we were.... we just signed up for "drinks" or "plates" ... That is, until my mom heard about the project. We maybe didn't have a lot of money, but we certainly were not bringing drinks when we could make something for cheaper and would be a lot more fun. I mean, have you seen the price of soda for 30 kids?

But who am I? That was the blessed day I found out that I have a heritage. You may think this is a lame realization... but I was really discovering from whom I came, for the first time. Behold.... I am a Choctaw! Native American and have the paper trail to prove it. (This information would come in handy later in my college years... *Scholarship*)

But what does a Choctaw bring to her 3rd grade potluck? If you were able to answer that question at all, with any sort of answer, you did better than we did. We could not think of how to even find what to bring. Then my mother... stroke of genius... starts talking it out and looking though our kitchen cabinets. On the counter she puts each find with an explanation of how it *totally* works.
Fist potatoes, because we grew our own food and had to make a little go a long way. Then ground beef, because we hunted our food and used every part of the animal. Then she grabbed a can of chili. The stroke of genius kind of ended there, but the creativity continued.
By the time I showed up to class we had a thick meaty chili served over mashed potatoes. It was a little bit embarrassing, cause I knew that we made it up and just knew my teacher would call us out and we would have take our made up dish home in shame.... but then part of me was proud. We used logic (sorta) and what we had available to make something great. And it was great. All of my class mates thought my dish was the best. They all wanted to be Native Americans after that, I told them they would have to settle on being just American.

But how does this rant apply to our lives today? Well, I'll tell ya. Tonight, I made my husband a traditional Choctaw meal, complete with mashed potatoes and chili. And even though I quit my job today, we are a creative bunch, and with God's help we'll make it.

I am so thankful for a mom who taught me how to work with what I have, to be content in all things, and above else, to pray. I remember coming home from school one day to an empty fridge, empty cabinets and my mom cleaning up looking for change to get food for us. We went on a search party and suddenly a depressing situation became a game. We came up with just over $5.00 by the time we searched the whole apartment. When we opened the door to go to the store, there was a box of groceries at our doorstep, we were able to eat of the provision of God. That night at church when everyone was leaving to go home, I was looking for my mom. I found her at the altar crying. I didn't go up to her, but watched her from the back of the sanctuary. There was a friend of the family sitting in the back, waiting for his wife, and he asked me if I was alright. I told him my mom was crying and I thought I should go to her. He told me to sit and wait, She was working it out with God, and needed her tears to express how she felt. As I sat there looking at her I started to cry as well. Jesus had been so good to us, he had provided. I had nothing to give in return, so I gave Jesus my tears.

Life happens, and it is easy to forget what we have and who gave it to us. I know that when I was hungry, God sent his people to feed me. How could I not do the same when I have what someone needs? Even if I have nothing, I can give. Tonight, I give Jesus my tears.