As a dad, I get the privilege of being the guest of honor at all of my daughter’s best parties. And there are a lot. She really likes to throw parties.
And so, whenever I am home, I am very well supplied with a constant stream of cakes and cookies, teas and coffees, as well as multitudes of dinner entrées and appetizers. Basically, if she has heard of it or seen it, it is on the menu.
Here is the secret; the food is not real.
I suppose you already knew that. I certainly know it. Even my daughter knows it. So why then, do we have to constantly go through the motions of her taking my order, cooking my food, and me “eating” and “drinking” until my throat is hoarse from all the slurping sounds I am required to make to prove I am really partaking of my eleventh cup of tea?
We go through the motions because while the food is not real, the experience is.
To be honest, I sometimes wish the barrage of food would just end. And lest I paint myself as some sort of wunderkind father – which I certainly am not – I am just going to say it; I often grimace when I come home and see the tea set out.
However, I think Jesus would drink the tea.
And then ask for another cup.
So, cup number twelve? Yes, thank you.
As a dad, I get the privilege of being the guest of honor at all of my daughter’s best parties. And there are a lot. She really likes to throw parties.
And so, whenever I am home, I am very well supplied with a constant stream of cakes and cookies, teas and coffees, as well as multitudes of dinner entrées and appetizers. Basically, if she has heard of it or seen it, it is on the menu.
Here is the secret; the food is not real.
I suppose you already knew that. I certainly know it. Even my daughter knows it. So why then, do we have to constantly go through the motions of her taking my order, cooking my food, and me “eating” and “drinking” until my throat is hoarse from all the slurping sounds I am required to make to prove I am really partaking of my eleventh cup of tea?
We go through the motions because while the food is not real, the experience is.
To be honest, I sometimes wish the barrage of food would just end. And lest I paint myself as some sort of wunderkind father – which I certainly am not – I am just going to say it; I often grimace when I come home and see the tea set out.
However, I think Jesus would drink the tea.
And then ask for another cup.
So, cup number twelve? Yes, thank you.