When I was a young lad growing up, there were three foods for which I had a
driving passion: peanut butter, sauteed chicken livers, and orange ice. I have
never known of anyone else who ate peanut butter with a spoon, feasted on
toasted chicken liver sandwiches, or regularly consumed heaping bowls of orange
ice; but I used to do all of these things often, and I must confess that, once
in a while, I still do.
On the other hand, I also had a passionate aversion to spinach, which my mother
believed to be absolutely essential to a healthy and strong body, and especially
so at my age. She lovingly catered to my likes, but not at all to my dislike of
spinach, a generous portion of which, to my chagrin, would periodically make an
appearance on my plate. My mother was also of the old school that believed that
the meal was not over until every plate had been cleaned, which presented me
with a challenging predicament.
So it was that one noonday when I was 10, I wound up sitting at the table, all
by myself, staring at a mound of untouched spinach, which I defiantly had
refused to eat. My mother informed me that I was to sit there until the spinach
was gone, all day if necessary, (and I supposed all night), and left me alone
while she went to attend to other tasks. Being an enterprising and imaginative
youngster, not easily discouraged, I eventually came up with a solution to my
problem. It turned out to be only a temporary solution, and in the long run an
unsatisfactory one which demonstrated a definite lack of wisdom and
understanding, but I was to grow immeasurably in both of these attributes as a
result of it. I spread the spinach out on my plate, flattening it down with my
fork, and carefully deposited it evenly under the far corner of the dining room
rug. Then happily I ran off in pursuit of some other more pleasant activity.
After I had all but forgotten the whole matter, an acrid smell in the dining
room made my deception clearly known to all. My presence was loudly called for,
I was confronted with the undeniable evidence of my wrong-doing, forceful
strokes were unhesitatingly administered to the appropriate portion of my
anatomy, and in less time than it takes to tell about it, I was effectively
taught a lesson about truthfulness and about trying to hide things that
eventually start to smell, which made a lasting impression on me, if not on my
bottom. I wish I could say that I learned my lesson so well that I now live my
life openly and honestly, without resorting to deception, hiding my weaknesses,
mistakes, wrongdoings, and other things of which I am ashamed, but of course I
cannot.
However, from the many times that I have ignored that lesson, I have discovered
a very important truth that has made a big difference in my life, namely that
whenever things start going wrong in my life, or I start to feel out of sorts
and find myself depressed and irritable, I am hiding something, and have gotten
myself entangled in the web of deception and untruth. Somewhere there is
something rotting under the rug that will not stop smelling until I have
confessed it, forgiven both the other person involved and myself, and have
thereby brought it into the healing light.
For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that
shall not be known. Therefore, whatsoever ye have spoken in darkness shall be
heard in the light; and that which ye have spoken in the ear in closets shall be
proclaimed upon the housetops (Luke 12:2-3).
Contributed by Stephen B Elmer buzz@c4.net
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