It seems like God gave us two stomachs, one for nutritious food and an extra for
desserts.
The first one is small and doesn't stretch much. You can tell how big it is by the
amount of time it takes to announce, "I'm full." Especially with children.
At my house, the children never finish eating dinner. They chew even the soup, slowly,
somehow making it appear like they're eating a lot, hoping that Mom and Dad will soon
realize they've eaten enough to deserve dessert.
Thus begins the ritual family dinner litany.
"Eat!" says a grown-up.
"I am," say the children.
"Don't fill up on the mashed potatoes. Eat your broccoli."
"I'm full."
"No you're not. If that were cake on your plate, you'd have plenty of room for
it."
"I'm so full, I can't even eat cake."
Looking at their pleading faces, with a mash of potatoes dotting their noses, I can see
they really mean it. But parents know children need to eat more nutritious food than their
first stomachs can hold. So we rise from our plates, turn our faces an appropriate shade
of warning-alert red, blow a little fire from our nostrils, and bellow, "EAT!"
Reluctantly, slowly, they jab at the broccoli, but the darn thing jumps away from their
forks. The children check us to see if this means they can quit, and noticing our frowns,
keep jabbing until, squirting pitiful tears, they plead, "I can't."
"Yes you can. You'll starve on what you've eaten. You can't have dessert until you
eat the broccoli."
Now their lips curl downward as they chew -- laboriously -- on one more small bit.
Worried that we might be harming their emotional stability, we parents finally say,
"All right. You don't have to finish."
This is the stimulus that signals the esophagus to switch to stomach number two.
Suddenly the children look hungry again. "What's for dessert?" they want to
know, proving that the stomach is always emptier on the other side of the esophagus.
To make matters worse, our souls have two stomachs, too, -- one for the nutritious
stuff (God's food) and one for the junk (devil's food). God plops more nourishing food on
our banquet tables than we can digest in one sitting. We can't handle all the divine
truths and righteous living He wants us to absorb, so we take forever nibbling small
morsels, hoping it appears like we're eating a lot, all the while thinking about the junk
food we'd like to enjoy.
But He tells us, "You can't have your cake without spiritually starving." So
I try to be a good child of God, knowing that Father knows best about what I should eat. I
pull up to the table. I'm ready to eat whatever He serves me.
Guess what I eat. The mashed potatoes -- nothing that might be hard to chew. And it
doesn't take me long to feel full. I'm soon ready to switch over to my dessert stomach.
But God tells me I should stretch my good-food stomach. So I nibble on the less tasty
stuff, and you know what? God's broccoli tastes better than dessert!
