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“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness…'”        2 Corinthians 12:9

Paul is getting his answer from God after complaining about a hardship.  But I feel like Paul and I are jiving along the same wavelength when I too declare to my children:

“Mama says to you, ‘My dinner is sufficient for you, for my cooking is made perfect in your hunger.'”

You say you want cookies?


Ice cream?


I made this real food, to fuel your real body and brain.  Veggies.  Meat.  Wrapped in a tortilla.  THIS I made for you.  THIS is what’s for dinner.  It’s the best.  Really.

Then, afterwards while I’m doing dishes, my brain drifts back to this exchange, and it’s like, “How often do I act like my kids?”

Find me at 3:00pm, in my pantry, joining with the national movement of emotional eaters at the mid-afternoon crash, digging in the cookie box for a “little something to tide me over.”  Holler.

Or I’m reaching for another cup of coffee to quell my doldrums, because it’s a quick “pick-me-up.”  Never mind the inevitable “crash-me-down” in a few hours.  Hmm…

This eating-right deal is fraught with self-discipline, the tool of perspective.  Yes, perspective is key.  This plain yogurt tastes marginal at best, but it will make me feel way better than those cookies.  What am I voting for here?  To feel better. What’s at stake?  My energy and mood.  What’s the goal?  To fuel my body to work well to do awesome things.

Eating with a goal is wise.

Living with a goal is wiser still.

Like following a God, who is smarter and more loving than me.  Like sidling up to his table, and eating his cooking.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”  Psalm 23:5

But how often do I look down at my plate full of God’s provision, and wrinkle my nose?

Do I stop to wonder how much better I will feel if I eat the dish He made just for me, when it is not a sweet dessert?  Maybe it tastes savory.  Maybe salty and earthy.  Maybe  hot and spicy.  Maybe downright bitter.

My kids will have to TRUST that I’m not poisoning them, in order to eat my dinners that “aren’t their favorite.”  Because seriously kids, I’m cooking for you FUTURES here.  You’re going to grow as big and as strong as you can get on these whole foods and nutritious ingredients, so help me!

And I will have to TRUST that God is not out to kill me, when he serves up helpings of direction and provision that “aren’t my favorite.”  Because seriously, God is cooking for my FUTURE here.

Ah, perspective.

One of the many upsides of motherhood and age.  There really are some upsides to this whole “living for years and years and years” business.  Gray hairs, I’ll take you, as long as you arrive in the same package as perspective, character, and a trust that my God is not out kill me when he serves up a plate that is “not my favorite.”  Maybe, in time, I may actually ask for it again, remembering how blandly it went down, but how rich and glad and full it made me feel, once inside.

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