A chicken casserole is always a classic for a Sunday School fellowship, and that’s what I began making for the event. In the middle of the preparation the smell of the chicken swimming around in its hot broth made me remember a really old story relating to chicken fare.

My younger sister and I spent a week out of several childhood summers at a cousin’s home in Memphis. There were three cousins who called their box-shaped brick house home. It was situated in the middle of a large subdivision with limited small trees and no large ones. Still, I wasn’t accustomed to city life, so the fenced-in backyards and the close proximity to neighbors on all sides meant a far-from-routine experience for me.

We almost worked the hinges off their backyard swing set, and the limited amount of shrubs and no woods made hide and seek a game we didn’t repeat. At least once during our week, the entire family would take a picnic to the city pool. What a treat for me who learned to swim in my granddaddy’s pond behind his barn. The muddy bottom would always squish between my toes, and the water never came close to being clear. Nevertheless, my brother and sisters made lots of muddy, fun memories along with whatever might have been swimming below our thrashing limbs.

The city pool was sheer luxury! Its water burned my eyes more than the pond water, but the ability to see beneath the surface all the way to the bottom gave a whole new meaning to swimming.

One of their family’s favorite evening meals was chicken with an assortment of veggies. It was the way my aunt served the chicken that got my attention. She pulled the entire, plump, naked bird out of a big pot and plopped it on the serving platter. It was my first time to witness a chicken that wasn’t  in bite size pieces stirred in a casserole or deep-fried with a golden layer of seasoned flour. 

 I still remember how my sister and I stared at that chicken. I was wondering how we were supposed to eat it until my uncle began pulling wings and legs from the table centerpiece. Even though it was like nothing my mother had ever served, my childhood appetite insisted I try it. Not bad – I thought to myself as my sister and I joined my cousins with their city version of a chicken dinner.

I didn’t realize it until I cooked for children of my own that my aunt had found a true time-saving chicken dinner. There was no greasy stove top or skillet to clean and no time-consuming task of watching and turning chicken pieces in a layer of hot oil. And the flavor for a growing, hungry child wasn’t half bad.

There’s a Bible verse in 1 Timothy that says: “For everything created by God is good, and not to be refused if it is received with thanksgiving.” I’m grateful I didn’t refuse that unpretentious, boiled bird, but I’m certain my thanksgiving wasn’t up to standard. Praise God, the years have greatly enhanced my attitude concerning gratitude.

Letters to Camille Anding can be mailed to The Daily Leader, P. O. Box 551, Brookhaven, MS 39602.