As I was giving my kids second, third and fourth servings of ketchup to accompany the chicken and veggies they weren't thrilled about (read: threenager throwing said chicken across the kitchen) I thanked the good Lord for that tangy, sweet, tomato-ish sauce. And as I dipped my own meat into ketchup I found myself suddenly hooked on dipping (drenching) my dry chicken until I was actually enjoying a meal of leftovers I had been dreading eating for lunch.
Then I thought about how there is so much like that in life. So many things we just know that we will hate....until...the ketchup.
With the ketchup we can force it down. With the ketchup we can swallow a second bite. With the ketchup we don't hate taking a third bite. With the ketchup we just cleaned the plate, scraped up the crumbs plus the last smear of ketchup and licked it off the fork. How did that happen? I hate dry chicken.
Contentment has this certain thing about it. I'll say it...no one says it but I mean...yuck. To have to resort to contentment must mean that life sucks and you are trying to make it sound all holy and beautiful, right? Please tell me it's not just me...but contentment always seems to be the dry chicken from lasts nights dinner, the consolation prize for the real thing. A necessary and responsible thing to take on, but contentment never sounds fun. I just know I will kinda hate it...until....the gratitude.
With the gratitude we get through this hour. With the gratitude it's been a whole day with no tears. With gratitude my comfort rises. With gratitude new tears well up in awe of what we have been given. With gratitude we lick the fork and the plate and ask for seconds because the joy in our hearts is surprising even us.
More ketchup please, this is my favorite meal.