She Created Culture: Sleepovers, Biscuits and Chocolate Gravy

Most everyone called her Granny.

That’s who Linda Pirkle was and probably still is to most kids and even some of the adults where I attended church as a child.

She went by Granny, but she wasn’t old by any means. I’m not sure if she was much beyond her 50’s. She had tanned skin that spoke of her life on a farm, short brown hair, a beautiful smile and the thickest southern accent you’ve ever heard in your life.

She and her husband, Gerald (all the kids called him Grandpa), owned a farm down the street from our church and she was part of one of the biggest families in town.

But see, in Granny’s mind, being blood wasn’t the only thing that made you “part of the family”.

I first met her when I was eight years old. My dad had just become associate pastor at her church and at first she blended right in with all the other adults… that is until that one Sunday night.

It was glorious summer time which meant late nights and no school. Our Sunday evening church service had just ended and I was outside running around with all my friends, as usual.

See, I was a bit of a wild child. When I say I was running, I mean full speed sprinting. I can’t tell you how many times I heard my mom’s voice calling out behind me, “Bethany, slow down!” She hardly ever let me wear shoes with a heel for fear I’d break an ankle. I ran a mile a minute and talked the same way. I think I was honestly a bit of a hand full. I don’t have any little girls of my own these days but I think if I did, I’d be slightly apprehensive that she’d be just like me as a child. A silly, jabbering, hyper little girl who said whatever came to mind and never stopped long enough to think of the consequences.

Why am I telling you this?

Well… because you need to know that Linda Pirkle didn’t seem to pick and choose what children she decided to love…. cause I certainly wouldn’t have been the easiest kid to have around.

Anyway, I remember that one Sunday evening when my friend, Alisha, (aka, my partner in crime from pre-school to this day), came running up with a question.

“Wanna go spend the night at Granny’s????”

“Granny’s?” I asked, confused. “Who’s Granny?”

“You know,” she said, “DeAnna’s Grandma.” I saw my friend DeAnna come running up behind Alisha. “All the kid’s are going! Go ask your parents!!!”

“Oh!” I said. Wow… what kind of Grandma asked “all the kid’s” to come sleepover at her house? Whoever she was, she was awfully brave.

I really had no idea who Granny was or where she lived or who all was going… but all my eight year old self knew was this: If there was a sleepover happening, and my bestie was going, I wanted to be there.

I ran to my parents to ask permission and they headed over to get some details from Granny and Grandpa as they sat at the front of their big SUV. My parents had been at the church long enough to have gotten to know people pretty well and when they saw that basically every kid that had attended church that night was piled in the back, they said my brother and I could go ahead. So, I excitedly squeezed into the back with all the other kids ranging anywhere from 5-10 years old. I felt special to be included.

Before long, we pulled up to Granny and Grandpa’s house. It was a log cabin tucked back away from the road and surrounded by a big yard and tall trees. The rest of the kids and I piled out of the SUV and into the house. As we stepped inside I’m not sure if I’d ever been in someone else’s home, besides my own grandparent’s, that felt more welcoming. I mean, log cabins are cozy to begin with, but add in the sweet smells, warm lamp light and old, lovingly worn-in, comfy furniture and I felt right at home.

After a quick snack, we were ushered into the living room and the rules were laid out. The boys would sleep upstairs, and the girls would sleep downstairs. There would be no trespassing. It was clearly understood.

None of us had anything but the clothes on our backs so there was no need to worry about teeth brushing or changing into PJ’s. We were fed and happy and the house was filled with chatting, contented children, just glad to know we were loved and we were with friends.

Soon the boys and girls had settled into their separate sleeping spaces. By settled, I mean we were there for the night but good gracious, but when you pile this many kiddos into one house, it’s far from quiet.

But what came next was what made the difference to me.

Granny and Grandpa grabbed their Bibles.

Grandpa headed upstairs to the boys’ room and a moment later Granny came walking into a living room full of jabbering, excited little girls bouncing on the pull out couch and sorting through which VHS tape we’d watch next… McGee And Me or Anne of Green Gables?

“Alright, girls!” Granny called out. “It’s time to quiet down for a few minutes, ok? I’d like to do a short devotional with y’all before I head to bed. Y’all need to sit real quiet and listen, alright?”

It took a couple minutes for us all to quiet down. Truth be told, at eight years old, I just wanted to keep playing, I don’t really remember what passage she read or what the point of her little lesson was.

But now, looking back, those few moments spoke volumes.

See, if that night, and the many more that would follow over the next couple of years, had just been a fun sleepover for the heck of it, I probably wouldn’t be talking about it today. Granny could have skipped the Bible time. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to get us to sit and listen… but I’m so glad she took the time and made the effort. She and Grandpa showed us that God’s Word was important, that it deserved our undivided attention and those moments spoke clearly of all the reasons this middle age couple had invited so many loud and rambunctious children into their home.

Shortly after, Granny and Grandpa headed off to bed. We, on the other hand, did not. We stayed up till the wee hours of the morning watching movies and gabbing and filling the night with silliness.

The next morning, after I’d gotten a full two or three hours of sleep, I could hear Granny up and around in the kitchen. I wandered in and asked what she was making.

“Chocolate gravy,” was her cheerful reply.

“Chocolate gravy??” I asked in surprise.

“That’s right,” she said, “I’m making biscuits and you can pour your chocolate gravy over the biscuits.”

What was this glorious news??? Could it really be??? I was sure she was jesting.

But low and behold, shortly after, I was sitting with a plate of soft buttery biscuits smothered in warm, chocolatey goodness. That, with a side of popcorn and a can of Pepsi and we were ready to hit the ground running. (I’m serious about the popcorn and Pepsi. This was a breakfast of champions, if you ask me.)

When breakfast was over, a few of the kids had to leave, but Granny looked at those of us who were left with a twinkle in her eye and asked:

“Now… who wants to go on an adventure?”

An adventure? Who wouldn’t?

The rest of the kids seemed to know what she meant and I figured whatever it was would be a good time. I would soon find out that an “adventure” with Granny and Grandpa meant hopping into the mule (no, not a donkey, it’s an all terrain golf cart) and heading off across the farm to climb on hale bails, see the animals and swim in the pond. Now, if that’s not a country childhood at it’s finest, I don’t know what is. These were fun, simple memories that will always stay with me.

I would go on to spend many more summer and weekend nights at Granny’s house over the next couple of years. There was something so magical about the time spent at her house as a child. Still, not until I’d reached adulthood did I truly begin to realize what time and quiet and resources Granny and Grandpa gave in order to shower love on so many children.

Culture Created

So… how does one create culture by bringing a bunch of crazy kids home to feed, house and spoil for a night?

Well, even being willing to do such a thing is a start, but if that’s all it had been, none of us would’ve know the “why” of it all.

But see, Granny’s insistence and preparation to always bring us girls back to God’s Word while we enjoyed all the blessings she was pouring on us, spoke to us of her heart and why she was doing all this.

Yes, she was teaching us to go above and beyond in kindness and patience and loving big, even when it cost us. But, more important than all of this, she treasured the Scriptures and took the time to share them with us. She was teaching us the why… she was teaching us the how… she was offering to us the very Words that would give us the strength to carry these things out as we grew to be women.

So, there it is.

Granny “taught the young women” and created culture… not only by living and loving and ministering in great ways… but by teaching us to love the Word that inspired her to do those things in the first place. She taught us what made loving big possible.

All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, (2 Tim 3:16)

They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women… that the word of God may not be reviled. (Titus 2)

Thank you, Granny. Your simple acts of kindness, sacrifice, and a love for God’s word have made a bigger difference than you’ll ever know.