When I was younger, my older sister, my older brother and myself were allergic to peanut butter, so my dad always kept it hidden and out of reach. My brother and I were both stubborn kids, so we’d sometimes climb the countertop, open up the cabinet and treat ourselves to a nice serving of peanut butter fingers (that’s where you scoop up peanut butter with your fingers and eat it). We knew it was wrong and that it would be bad for us, but we willingly accepted the consequences.
As I grew up, and coincidentally when I was tall enough to reach the peanut butter without climbing the counter, my allergy seemed to have left me. I was free to eat peanut butter, but for the sake of my brother and sister, my dad still kept it tucked away. Eventually, my brothers allergy to peanut butter seemed to fade, and so, it was only my older sister who suffered the allergy.
Earlier this year, my sister moved out into a place of her own, and so I thought that my dad would take the peanut butter and place it in its rightful place in the pantry, but he never did.
—
Last night I ate a peanut butter sandwich, and just as I’ve been doing for my entire life, I had to go to the lonely corner of my kitchen, open up the cabinet and reach to the highest shelf to get what I wanted.
In my fathers house, the way he cares for one, is how he cares for us all.
– Jesse R.
“I Am, and We are Missionaries”
Loved this