When Heather and I were little we would often go with our parents to visit Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell. We'd sit in the living room visiting and playing with some old, big wooden trucks they had in a toybox, and, after some time, Mrs. Blackwell would head into the kitchen and come back with a plate of cookies. Sometimes, if it was a surprise visit, they'd still be cold as she had just pulled them out from the freezer. When we went Christmas caroling or trick-or-treating we might even get to bring some cookies home - that was extra special.
I think often of Mrs. Blackwell's cookies. Sometimes it's because I'm craving them (they really were delicious!), but more often it's because I'm craving that cozy living room and the much loved company. Those cookies to me represent love and welcome and hospitality. They bring me back to sitting on the floor surrounded by a roomfull of love. I can almost hear Mr. Blackwell talking about the cows or sharing a story about his sons ... Mrs. Blackwell updating us on what "those grandsons" were up to and asking Heather and I if we had any songs to sing them.
And the best part? I think *literally anyone* could have walked into the Blackwell's living room and been surrounded by the same quiet conversation, easily offered love, and probably fed a cookie or two as well. That's just who they were ... And they were wonderful.
I'm confident that always having cookies ready to serve was an intentional plan Mrs. Blackwell had, and I'm sure it wasn't always quite as effortless as it seemed. Wise women are like that, you know. However, I'm not sure she could have known how much of an impact she was making on a young me. I'm not sure she knew that years in the future If be making her cookies and telling my daughters all about her while I slipped a tupperware container full of cookies into the freezer for later.
I'm not even sure she, or my parents, could have predicted that the Blackwell living room would still be a huge influence on my idea of hospitality. But, they just might have had some suspicions because it was a scene that was set repeatedly - one I wish I could have fully appreciated in the moment as much as I do now.
I learn a lot from my memories of Mr. And Mrs. Blackwell. While I don't often have a container of homeade cookies ready to serve and my living room is currently louder and more chaotic than theirs ever was, we always have snacks and we're always up for a good conversation (especially if you can multi task and play baby dolls at the same time - ha).
Mrs. Blackwell's cookies were delicious and I'm thankful my momma passed me the recipe, but her demonstration of love? That I pray I can duplicate as closely as possible.
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