Strawberry Shortcake

Left Split

Memorial Day weekend growing up meant driving to Grandma Davey’s house in Easton, Pennsylvania.

The drive from Syracuse seemed to take forever.  “Are we almost there yet?” we would pester our parents.  Then you would see the giant “Dixie Cup” on top of the Dixie Cup factory in Easton and you knew you were there.

Every Memorial Day my grandmother served Strawberry Shortcake: home-made biscuits served warm, sweet berries, and Cool-Whip!  Mmmm…I looked forward to Grandma’s Strawberry Shortcake every year. But something else happened…

The good memories of my grandmother, the times we spent together, the love she gave all of us, became joined to the memory of Strawberry Shortcake.  So today, whenever I have it, especially on Memorial Day, I remember Grandma Davey and I remember her unconditional love for me.  She has been with me always.

As Jesus closest followers gathered round him at the table he broke the bread, passed the cup, and said, “Do this; in remembrance of me.”  In that meal, Jesus joined himself to them – and to all of us.  In that meal Jesus pours himself into us.  I imagine that no one who was around the table that night ever forgot it.  I imagine every time they shared Passover – smelled it’s smells; tasted it’s story – they remembered Him.

And we remember too.  We remember the one who gave his life that we would be free.  We remember the one who gave his light that all might see.  We remember the One whose unconditional love breaks all that binds us and gives us life!

What are your Memorial Day stories?  Click the Comments button to share…




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