Ephesians 6:2-3 — “Honor your father and mother (this is the first commandment with a promise), that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.”

I was standing at the stove last night, stirring a pot, when it hit me like a freight train wrapped in butter and memory. Food is my love language, you see, and it took me back.

Daddy used to come home after long days working the fields in Tallulah. He would be covered in dust and sweat and still manage to whip up the best meal you ever had. He could tickle your taste buds and your funny bone, all in one sitting. Especially with his scrambled eggs.

Saturday mornings, he would make a batch so creamy and seasoned just right, they practically melted on your tongue. They weren’t dry and crumbly like most folks make. No, these were something special, and if you were lucky, he would crack a joke while he was cracking the eggs.

I did not care one bit about learning to cook back then. I was a tomboy, all elbows and skinned knees, with no interest in the stove, but I never missed a meal. Not once. Now, years later, I find myself standing in a kitchen, doing the very thing I once ran from. Somewhere between the recipe cards and the frying pans, I came full circle.

Billy Ray Arender is not here anymore, and if this daddy’s girl could walk into that kitchen again and ask him what he was cooking, I would, a hundred times over. But I can’t. So, I like to cook. I try to remember him and honor his memory.

See, in the Bible, the fifth commandment doesn’t just ask us to obey our parents when we’re young. It teaches us to honor them with our whole lives.

If you’re still blessed to have your parents or grandparents, treasure that gift. Sit with them. Learn from them. Ask them the things you will want to remember, and if they’re already gone, honor them by how you live, how you love, and how you carry their legacy forward—one quiet, everyday moment at a time.