It’s funny how something as ordinary as pancakes for dinner can ignite a theological meandering in one’s head. (That happens to other people, right?)
It was already late. We needed a quick meal. I considered fixing pancakes and bacon, but my eldest daughter isn’t fond of pancakes. (Please. I know.) The girl loves eggs. Eggs. Not pancakes. So, I did what any mother who wants to transition into a relatively seamless, drama-free bedtime would do. I added eggs to the menu — something for everyone.
What I failed to take into account was the degree to which my pancake-resistant child was hungry. It was later than our usual dinnertime. Throw in a growth spurt, and you’ve got a ravenous child. A child who ate not only 2 pieces of bacon and 4 (5?) eggs, but two pancakes. TWO. Without complaint.
She ate the pancakes – gladly – because she was hungry.
And that’s when the meandering began. One of those funny thoughts occurred to me. Not ha-ha funny. The other kind. The kind that elicits a funny look when you express it — like the one I had tonight about my daughter and the pancakes. And hunger.
Most of us wouldn’t consider hunger a blessing. Pancakes, yes. Hunger – not so much.
Yet, it was the hunger – not the pancakes – that paved the way to thankfulness.
I don’t dare to say it out loud because it sounds wrong – heretical, even.
But what if there’s something to it?
What if the things we count as blessings aren’t blessings at all?
At least not the best kind.
What if our abundance – our satiety – our comfort – serves to dull our hunger for something better?
Something infinitely better than we can ask or imagine?
Go ahead. Make all the funny faces you want.
I think the pancakes put me onto something…