Tomorrow, my mother will celebrate her 84th birthday. I am both honored, humbled and happy that she has reached that milestone. It is a blessing that almost beggars description. It is a blessing to her because she has exceeded the biblical promise of seventy years which is promulgated in Psalm 90:10. It is a blessing to our nuclear family because she has been a perennial source of unconditional love, unreasonable support and unfailing presence. And it is a blessing to our extended network of family and friends because she is highly intelligent and remarkably skilled.

And perhaps nowhere are her skills more evident than in the kitchen. My mother’s culinary skills are superb. Da sista can just cook. Now I am aware of the fact that every child thinks that their mother can cook—just like every mother thinks that their baby is cute.  But as a wise preacher that I know often says—”it ain't what you say, it's what they say.”  And over the years, a large host of non-Robinsons have affirmed and confirmed my mother’s culinary prowess. Even now, she is inundated with requests for several of her dishes, especially her deserts. Her specialities include lemon pound cake, german chocolate cake, strawberry shortcake and pear preserves.

Pear preserves are not technically a desert. To be honest, I really don’t know what category they best fit in. They are like jelly, but more than jelly.  They are like syrup, but they are more than syrup.  They do not spoil and you can't buy them in stores.  They have to be made.  So one day, I decided to ask my mother for her recipe on how to make them.

Why. Did. I. Ask. Her. That.? LOL. Honestly, that conversation was one of the most frustrating conversations that I have ever had with my mother. Why? Because like most other highly skilled masters of other arts, my mother can cook, but she can’t really tell you what she does or how she does it. She couldn’t give me exact measurements or precise directives. Here is an modified transcript of our conversation:

Me: So, Ma….how do you make pear preserves?

Ma: Well, first you have to get the right pears.

Me: How do I know if I have the right pears?

Ma: You'll just know. Then, you peel the pears, and add nutmeg, cinnamon, and sugar.

Me: How much nutmeg, cinnamon and sugar?

Ma: The right amount. Then put it everything in a pot and let it cook slowly until its done.

Me: How long do i have to cook it?

Ma: Until it's done.

Me: How willI know it's done?

Ma: When it is.

You get the idea. I quickly thanked her and then quickly changed the subject. When the conversation was over, my frustration melted into joy because I realized how I fortunate I was that my mother even took the time to share the recipe.

It occurred to me that my mother had given me a rare and precious gift. Many companies and organizations—such as Coca Cola—consider their recipes to be trade secrets and they are fiercely protected. Many individuals are just as protective over the recipes for success and progress that they have either acquired or developed. This attitude is marvelously chronicled in a book that a member of our church gave me a few years ago that warns it readers that “the game is to be sold not told.” Some folk just won't give you their recipe for success.    They won’t tell what they did or how they made it.  Hence, I am extremely grateful that my mother was not only willing to give her recipe for pear preserves, but more importantly, several other recipes on how to live a purposeful, productive and powerful life that honors God and impacts the world.

However, it would be lying if I told you that every recipe that I got from my mother worked. Some worked. Others did not. But I took what worked, and discarded what didn’t.

Here’s the question that has been haunting me all week: what recipes did you get from your family?    

That question grabbed me by the throat as I was reading the experience of a young King named Ahaziah that greets us in 2 Chronicles 22:2-3. The scripture informs us that:

Ahaziah was twenty-two years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem one year. His mother was Athaliah, a granddaughter of King Omri. Ahaziah also followed the evil example of King Ahab’s family, for his mother encouraged him in doing wrong. 4He did what was evil in the Lord’s sight, just as Ahab’s family had done. They even became his advisers after the death of his father, and they led him to ruin.

Ahaziah’s mother also gave him some recipes—but for all the wrong things. In one translation it says that she was his “counsellor to do wickedly.” The recipes that Ahaziah received from his mother ruined him.

Don’t assume that all of the recipes that you received from your family work. Use the ones that do. But discard the ones that do not. It would be shame to allow an outdated, ineffective family recipe shaped by trauma, disappointment and failure to ruin you.