Pardon me for airing out home matters, but Terry and I have been spatting. I really am not quite sure what happened. We have not talked it out yet, but we will in due course.
Anyway, it has become our habit for quite some time to eat out on Thursday evenings. I look forward to it. But, I have been noticing lately that Terry would perhaps like to change the day of doing so because she keeps suggesting we change to Fridays.
I was sitting on the couch waiting for her arrival from work. I was very hungry since I had paced myself dietary-wise all day to go eat with her. She sat down beside me when she came in.
“What do you want to eat tonight,” I asked. But, instead of answering the question, she launched into telling me a variety of things on her mind. Honestly, some of the content put me on edge a bit. After 30 minutes of listening, I got really put on edge.
But, then, she stretches out on the couch, puts a pillow under her head on my lap, and goes to sleep. My stomach suddenly became incensed and flabbergasted. I sat there with her 15 more minutes. I feel put out big time. Was she trying to get me to acquiesce to her suggested change?
So, I got to thinking about those two cans of spam she had removed from the cupboard and commanded authoritatively that I leave them alone — like some sort of Nurse Ratched. Previously, when I thought I was pretty healthy, I usually bought two cans of spam a week. I really like spam, but I have not had any since my recent surgery. Terry has not let me have any because it contains too much fat, she says. Fried eggs, too, for cholesterol concerns. Cheese toast, too, for saturated fats and carbohydrate concerns.
I inadvertently woke her up as I slid off the couch from my lap being underneath her.
“What are we going to eat?” she mumbled. I made no reply. I was not concerned at that point what she was going to eat, but I knew what I was going to eat.
I got to feeling brighter, too, because our little spat was going to result in a can of spam, several fried eggs and three buttered cheese-toasts. I could feel the smile sneak across my lips as I sliced up the spam and put each slab in the pan for frying. I thought to myself that it was turning out to be a spat with great results.
Except Terry did not see it that way. The scene in the kitchen became tense.
“You are going to make me pay for this, aren’t you?” she blurted with hurt feelings. Breaking out in tears, she said, “I am going upstairs!” Bless her heart, she has led the way dedicatedly in preparing healthier eats for me, and I have yielded for good reason. But, in this instance, her chagrin only made me turn up the heat higher to make those foods I knew were bad for me cook faster.
The spiritual application and comparison has bitten me since, however. According to Scripture, there is pleasure in sin — but only for a season. Oh, yes, I enjoyed my meal. It went down so good. It only took a few minutes to eat it after I willfully and rebelliously fixed it. But, did I do damage to my precarious health for the long term, is the question?
The bothersome thing about committing willful and rebellious sin is that sometimes the least provocation gives us cause to err. How dumb is that? Avoid the weak times. Stay steady with God. His ways and principles are always a lot healthier for both body and soul.
Terry and I seldom spat. But, the making up is always good when we do spat. I cannot wait to make up. I better do my part soon just in case the heart-damaging side effects of the spam kicks in and possibly causes me to kick out.
Spat or no spat, I probably will not eat any more spam — at least for a while. I am sure that my Nurse Ratched will oversee that more dynamically.
The Rev. Ron Branch is pastor of Faith Baptist Church in Mason, W.Va.
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