The week of Grandpa Smith’s funeral, we drove more than 2,200 miles to spend some time with both sides of our family.  We left Evansville Indiana early on a Monday morning and arrived in Valdosta, Georgia on Tuesday afternoon to gather with family for Grandpa Smith’s farewell.  In all of our married life, we had taken our family to only one Georgia reunion fifteen years earlier.  I wondered how awkward it might be to span the gap between my Southern aunts, uncles and cousins and our distant Indiana family.  I shouldn’t have worried.  In Aunt Mary’s yard, beneath oak trees heavy with Spanish moss, we hugged and were hugged by faces older, yet as familiar as yesterday.  In the off-hand way Southerners have of offering overwhelming hospitality, Aunt Mary urged all of us to come inside and fill our plates.

Every flat surface in her kitchen had been covered with foods that made my dormant Southern taste buds spring to life.  Aromas from smoked ham and turkey, okra and squash casseroles, assorted salads that neighbors had “dropped by,” and several desserts mingled with aroma from a still-simmering five-gallon pot of Uncle Roger’s acre peas.  These small, oval, pale green peas are uncommon outside of southern Georgia.  The farmers grow barely enough to satisfy local consumption.  Uncle Roger had lovingly cooked those peas to perfection.  We heaped praises upon him for his efforts.  After supper our daughter Laura echoed our own thoughts when she said, “I can’t eat another bite, but when will we ever get food like this again?”

The next day, after the funeral, we began the long drive back home.  After spending Thursday night in our own beds and barely catching our breath, we left to be at our Michigan family reunion on Saturday.  Here, too, we found ourselves surrounded by loving people, all labeled “family,” and an abundance of food.  The specialty of the day was an Italian shish kabob called spiedie (pronounced speedy).  These had marinated all night in traditional sauces before being grilled outdoors.  Throughout the afternoon there were many references to the spiedies and well-deserved praises for the grandsons who grilled them.

On our way home at the end of this long, eventful week, our thoughts returned to the warmth and love we share with our family.  Within each family there is an ongoing conversation that continues in spite of time or distance.  The occasional coming together is like stopping by the side of the road for a common picnic in our separate journeys.  Among us are rich and poor, educated and laborers.  Nothing matters except that, because we are family, we are welcome.  We remember the hugs as well as the warm conversation and real concern that make our families unique.

When Christ gathers his own at Heaven’s table, surely there will be love, laughter and food in abundance.  All will be welcome.  All will be family.  We hope that somewhere in the abundance there will be a simmering pot of acre peas and a platter of spiedies on the side.