...God doesn't just touch down in our lives for short periods of time and then take off when He's ready for a new adventure. He sets up camp. Puts up fences. Establishes boundary lines in pleasant places. And then He surrounds us with people who do their very best to make sure we don't wander too far from the fold. 
(~Sophie Hudson, A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet, p. 86)

Alex decided he was hungry, so I fed him and thought it would be nice for the two of us to visit for a little while. It was the first time we'd been by ourselves when he was awake, and as I sat in the squishy vinyl hospital chair and stared at what was surely the most precious face I had ever seen, I told that little man how much I loved him, how thankful I was for the privilege of being his mama. And I thought about my very favorite passage of Scripture--one I'd committed to memory when I was seventeen years old and had no idea how faithful the Lord would be through the struggles and wonders and heartaches and joys that lay ahead: "Now to Him Who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations forever and ever" (Ephesians 3:20-21).

And then I cried. Because having a child--being a family--was an "immeasurably more" moment for me. I was overcome with gratitude that God had given us the gift of this sweet baby--a gift that, for most of my life, I had no idea I wanted...

That's the thing about the "immeasurably more." God prepares you for it even when it's nowhere on your to-do list.

And now that I have the benefit of looking at my childhood through a lens with some wisdom attached, it occurs to me that during all those Sunday dinners when I was growing up, I learns something way more important than how to make a pitcher of sweet tea or where to put the salad fork or when to pick up dinner plates before Mama served dessert. I learned something more important than how to be a lady even.

I learned to listen and to laugh. I learned to forgive. I learned that some earthly love really is unconditional. I learned that God is always at work in the day to day. I learned that even when you're sad or embarrassed or just plain mad, you're always welcome at the table.

And more than anything else, I learned how to take care of people. I learned how to let them take care of me. I learned how to be a family.

I didn't have the slightest clue that anyone was teaching me, of course.

But I'm forever grateful for the lesson.
(~Sophie Hudson, A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet, pp. 49, 50, 52)

...the nurse finally placed him in my arms. I was mesmerized. It had nothing to do with the fact that I had been carrying him for nine months, but it had everything to do with the realization that he was a wonder, a gift, and--as trite as it may sound--a miracle. I loved him instantly, and I was deeply, profoundly humbled by the realization that as much as I loved Alex in that moment, it was just an infinitesimal fraction of how much God loves us. It was an instantaneous, profound, life-altering shift in perspective.

That baby boy changed everything for me. And in all the best ways.
(~Sophie Hudson, A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet, p. 48)

Like Scout Finch in "To Kill a Mockingbird", I saw the effortless grace and elegance of the women around me and realized that "there was some skill involved in being a girl," and I knew I didn't just want to grow up and be a woman.

I wanted to grow up and be a lady.
(~Sophie Hudson, A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet, p. 38)

Now I've never known my mama to harbor unforgiveness toward anyone, but the accidental destruction of all that gorgeous Rosenthal china was a sanctifying experience for her. Mama has always found comfort in Scripture, and I daresay that if she hadn't trusted so deeply in the book of James's admonition to "count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds," those broken cups and saucers might have caused a permanent rift in her marriage, as well as a touch of the post-traumatic stress disorder.

And to be perfectly honest, I think Mama may have struggled for a day or two with the end of that verse, which assures us that our trials ultimately mold us into people who are "perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."

Because GUESS WHAT, JAMES? SHE WAS STILL LACKING THOSE ROSENTHAL CUPS AND SAUCERS.

Clearly James wasn't privy to the details of Mama's harrowing china ordeal when he wrote his epistle.

Naturally, Mama recovered. Laughed about it, even. She contented herself with her remaining Rosenthal Hillside salad and dinner plates, and I'll have you know that she still uses them, almost fifty years later. 

The Lord always leaves a remnant, you know. I'm pretty sure James would agree.
(~Sophie Hudson, A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet, p. 21.)

Martha would tell you even now that she would have never wanted her dear friend to suffer, that it makes her smile to think of Rubena in heaven. She would tell you how grateful she is for the blessing of having a lifelong friend who, for the better part of seventy years had been a supportive, encouraging example of Christlike love.

But she would also tell you that she misses her friend every single day, that she feels lonely sometimes when she goes to the Belks and doesn't have to fun over to the dresses section to check a size for Rubena. And she would tell you that she'd give anything if they could leave the mall together and eat dinner at the Western Sizzling' one more time. 
(~Sophie Hudson, A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet, p. 17)

So for me, Mamaw's death was my first glimpse into what family looks like in the midst of sadness and grief and heartache. I couldn't have put words to it at the time, I don't think, but somehow I could sense that there was beauty in all that brokenness, that there were little patches of light that permeated the darkness. Yes, there was sorrow and pain--but there was also love and comfort and laughter and joy. There was a confidence that something bigger was at work, an assurance of "an eternal glory that far outweighs them all" (2 Corinthians 4:17, NIV).
(~Sophie Hudson, A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet, p. 8)