Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer

Most moms have a way of knowing what their children are capable of, whether it’s good or ornery.

They also usually know what’s going on. Especially at important gatherings.

One day in a small Middle Eastern town roughly halfway between an inland sea and the Mediterranean, a family hosted a wedding supper for their son. It must have been a big affair because they ran out of wine—a serious situation for the wedding planner.

How do people toast the happy couple without something in their glass or goblet? Something other than water.

Several moms were there besides the mother of the bride, but one in particular saw what was happening. She was a simple woman, not of the elite class, but she was paying attention as guests emptied their cups and no one came to refill them.

She must have anticipated trouble, or at the least, embarrassment.

So she whispered to her son who was also there, “They have no more wine.”

He said in essence, “It’s not my problem.”

True, it wasn’t his problem, but why would she tell him rather than someone else? He wasn’t in charge. He was a guest too.

But she knew what he was capable of. Maybe in the quiet of their family life at home she had seen him intervene, come up with a solution. Think outside the box.

She turned to the waitstaff and told them, “Do whatever he tells you.”

And what he said would have given me pause. He told them to fill several twenty- to thirty-gallon containers in the house with water, then pour that out for the wedding planner.

What must his mother have thought? Was she shocked? Frightened? Did she wave her arms and shout, “Wait! Stop!”

We don’t know how she reacted but we know how the staff responded. They did what her son told them.

And it was a show stopper.

After tasting the wine, the wedding planner drew the groom aside and said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”

Notice who got the kudos: not the mom, her son, or the hosts, but the groom. The guy who had absolutely nothing to do with it.

And who knew what really happened?

The servers.

They knew they had filled those containers with water and they knew when they poured it out it was wine.

No fanfare. No announcement. Just a simple, quiet miracle resulting from the servers’ obedience to do what they were told.

I want to obey like that.

The son’s friends figured it out later. But I think his mom expected it.

Somehow, she knew. She trusted.

I want to trust like that.

John 2:1-11

~

“Those barbecued beans were great. And the cake.” Ty shook his head in a way Ronnie knew meant yes rather than no.

“Thank you. Felicity, our cake specialist, is a genius. And the beans, well, my Gramma ’Cine should get credit for those.”

“Seen?” His forehead wrinkled.

“C-i-n-e. Short for Francine.”

“Did she cook ’em? Your grandmother, I mean.”

“Oh, no. She’s been gone for twenty years. But she taught me how to make them when I was a little girl.”

Not exactly the time to get all puddly, but Gramma ’Cine had laid the foundation for nearly everything Ronnie did, from cooking to trusting God, both of which often went hand in hand.

Polite won out over petrified, and Ty reached for the saganaki wedge she’d offered. “Sounds Japanese,” he said. “Not Greek.” His mouth hitched up on one side with a little chuckle deep in his chest. But when he bit into one of the cheese-topped triangles, his eyes slid closed in pleasure.

Bingo.

~ “Taste and See” from Always a Wedding Planner

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