After the Atrocity

Years ago, a friend of mine observed, "The way to Tirzah's heart is through her stomach." I think her statement was accurate, because lately I've been drooling over the way food reminds me of God's ways. He likes food. He invented food. He makes infinitely good food. I mean literally and metaphorically, of course.

In my previous post, I rambled about how God can help us deal with metaphorical meal disasters when life serves us up some unpalatable trials. This evening, I had a pleasant experience at a literal drive-thru. I was hungry for nachos on the drive home, so I visited my good friend Taco Bueno and tried their Mucho Nachos. I only had to wait a couple of minutes because there was no line, and I was able to wait until I arrived home to enjoy the light meal. And the nachos were already assembled for me, like they're supposed to be. Just look at that photo above. It's like a pinwheel or a sunflower! Gorgeous! The meal also came with a side of salsa which I added later. The nachos were a bit mushy on the bottom, but that's what forks are for. This certainly wasn't the perfect nacho platter, but I wolfed it all down, and my tummy is happy.

"The people of Israel called the bread manna. It was white like coriander seed and tasted like wafers made with honey." (Exodus 16:31)

Perhaps readers who are my Facebook friends remember the allegories that I wrote in my status updates earlier this year in which I stated that I've been coming out of my own personal wilderness of sorts. (Very long story.) So, lately at church, anytime anyone mentions the Israelites in the wilderness, etc., my ears perk up. The wilderness -- the desert -- can be a hot, dry, uncomfortable, awkward, dangerous place, literally and metaphorically. But after God delivered the Israelites from their bondage in Egypt and brought them into the literal desert, He took extremely good care of them. There were hundreds of thousands of people who were basically wandering around in the middle of nowhere. How were they all supposed to survive the harsh climate? How was God supposed to feed all of them? (Moses couldn't just pile hundreds of thousands of people into the back of his camel and pull up to a Taco Bueno in the middle of the wilderness. "Hi, uh, I'll take four hundred thousand orders of Mucho Nachos, two hundred thousand Mexi Dips and Chips, and five hundred thousand Beef Taco Platters. And could you use kosher salt, please? Extra salsa. Thanks!")

God fed them with a special concoction called manna that miraculously appeared, from what I understand, like dew on the ground six days a week. The Israelites would make cakes out of the manna, and that was their food out in the middle of nowhere in an otherwise foodless place. Unfortunately, many of the Israelites got sick of eating manna every day and complained about having better food to eat while they were slaves in Egypt. They wanted meat, and they complained to such a degree that God basically said, "You want meat? Oh, I'll give you meat." (The full story is written in Numbers 11 and sung about in Psalm 78.)

So, while I've been watching the Food Network, I've noticed that professional chefs are extremely serious about the culinary arts. They respect food. They put an extreme deal of thought into ingredients, preparation, and presentation. They know what they're doing, they're passionate about what they're doing, and they're constantly thinking of new ways to express what they're doing.

So, I've wondered what God would be like if He were a chef. In a sense, especially considering all that manna He fed to the Israelites, He is the greatest Chef of all who cooks up the best food anyone could ever eat -- literally and metaphorically. So, using an example from my life, I would like to present to you, reader, what it would be like to interact with God while He cooks up the best metaphorical food that a soul could ever enjoy.

Him: Good evening, and welcome to your own personal desert.

Me: I'm starving.

Him: What I would like to prepare for you this evening is a coriander-like manna. (smirky smile) I guess you could call it desert à la king. (laughs)

Me: (knits brows) Uh, could You hurry it up a little, please? My tummy's growling so loud I can barely hear my angst pulsing through my veins.

Him: (tosses ingredients onto cutting board and begins to chop) Okay, so the desert sun is starting to fry out your sarcasm and impatience -- very good... Now feast your eyes on this! Voilà! (smiles stellarly while displaying dish of manna)

Me: (sniffs plate) Hmm. I guess this could work. (smashes manna, bakes it into cakes, and digs in) Yeah, this is pretty good. Thanks! So, who am I supposed to enjoy this meal with?

Him: (grins) Me.

Me: Great! Who else?

Him: Just Me.

Me: (scratches head) And this manna is supposed to symbolize...

Him: Relationships. You're supposed to be content with just Me before I can trust you with more.

(time passes... eight or nine meals later...)

Me: (sighs frustratedly) Bondage was so much more fun than this! Why can't I just go back to Egypt already?

Him: Because you don't belong there anymore. You belong here with Me.

Me: But this manna has gotten so old!

Him: No, I give you fresh manna every day. You find it boring, but it's like spiritual broccoli. You need it, and you crave it, even if your taste buds don't know it.

Me: Can You PLEASE give me something besides manna?

Him: No, you need to handle the manna first.

Me: (whining) I'm NOT handling it very well. You love me, don't You? Why can't You give me something better-tasting?

Him: Is that what really matters to you? just the taste?

Me: Pour barbecue sauce on it.

Him: No, that doesn't go with manna.

Me: I want something that I can barbecue!

Him: No.

Me: Make it greasier! Put some French fries on the side with some ketchup!

Him: No.

Me: (on the verge of throwing a tantrum) You're not enough for me! I'm sick of having evening talks with You and morning talks with You and afternoon secret-place time with You. I want something more!

Him: (heartbroken) I'm not enough for you?

Me: I want a person with skin that I can see with my eyes and hear with my ears and talk to with my mouth!

Him: (softly) You don't really want that.

Me: I want somebody to hang out with on Friday nights! I'm tired of being lonely! I want to be somebody's first-called friend!

Him: (more loudly) You don't really want that.

Me: Yes, I do! You can't tell me what to do!

Him: (angrily unties His apron) Okay, you want metaphorical meat? Fine! I'll give you metaphorical meat.

Me: Yes, please. That will stop my stomach from growling. Your metaphorical manna sucks.

Him: (cracks knuckles and takes deep breath) I'm going to allow you to go through this because I know that when it's over, you'll be grateful.

(distant fluttering of wings grows louder and deafly louder until quail start miraculously dropping from the ceiling)

Me: (gasps) This is beautiful! All the meat I could eat!

Him: (grills each quail at supersonic speed) Buen provecho, and the antacid is here in My pocket.

Me: (scoffs while chowing down) I ain't gonna need no antacid. You're the perfect Chef. This metaphorical food is scrumptious! I'm grateful already. Thank You so much for serving me up a Friday-night friend! She calls me anytime she needs anything.

Him: (quietly) Mm-hmm.

Me: (chuckles) Actually, she calls once a week. No, sometimes twice a week. (slowly) Most of her phone calls are at least 45 minutes long.

Him: (continues quail-grilling; plates are beginning to pile up) Chew faster, sweetheart. You're running behind.

Me: (struggles to swalllow) She's starting to hog all the conversations now.

Him: (wipes sweat from brow; sharpens knife) Mm-hmm. Keep chewing. There's a lot more where this quail came from.

Me: (mouth is full, but stops chewing) Actually, I'm kinda getting sick of this dish now. She barely lets me talk anymore.

Him: (stops grilling, wipes brow, and thoughtfully rests tongs on chin) Since we've got such a backup of plates here, what we could do is just toss the uneaten entrees into a blender and puree the mixture in to a potpie...

Me: (gagging) I don't even have to look at the caller ID anymore! If my phone rings, I know it's her!

Him: (begins to hastily chop uneaten quail) I hope you've been enjoying your dishes, because you're the one who ordered meat.

Me: (clutching abdomen in pain; wiping used quail that has squirted out of her nostrils) Can I please eat something else now? I'm really sick of this quail.

Him: (dumps chopped quail into blender) What would you rather eat?

Me: (dizzy) Well, I was kinda thinking...

Him: (turns on blender) I truly love you, and I truly know what's best for you.

Me: (about to pass out; uses every ounce of strength she has to shout) Manna! Please feed me manna again instead! I need You! I miss being close to You!

Him: (tosses blender and uneaten quail into nearby trashcan; smiles) I've been waiting so long for this moment.

Me: (runs to the trashcan and pukes) Aw, gosh, I feel terrible.

Him: (gently pats her on shoulder) Remember the antacid.

Me: (reaches for bottle with shaky hand; dumps pellets in mouth and chews) Wow. I finally got her to stop contacting me, but setting boundaries is hard.

Him: Don't back down. You'll be fine. I'm proud of you. I love you.

Me: (burps) Are You sure? I just totally dissed You.

Him: (displays dish of fresh manna) New and improved meal! Ta-da!

Me: (gasps) Wow! You're full of surprises. (smashes manna, bakes into cakes, and chows down)

Him: It's just you and Me, kid.

Me: (chewing) This manna is so savory. It fits perfect inside my tummy. There's nothing like it. It's as if You know... (hesitating) exactly what I need and exactly what I like. I'm sorry I insulted Your culinary skills. You rock so hard in Your kitchen. Thank You!

Him: (chuckles and crosses arms triumphantly) Gratefulness, check.

Me: Desert à la king!

So, the King of Kings knows how to cook up the best literal and metaphorical meals ever. Hmm. My spiritual tummy is growling. You know what I've got a hankering for? Righteousness. No assembly required!