Pure Act

Joanna, Jordan, and I sat with our hands cupping our roast beef sandwiches to keep them hot while we waited on Pat, who wanted the salad bar. We waited a few minutes for him, then decided to go ahead and start eating when we observed him getting into a conversation with an elderly couple.

Our sandwiches half eaten, Pat joined us and explained that the couple had stopped him as he walked past. "They just wanted to talk," said my husband, who has never learned the fine art of avoiding people or extricating himself from conversations.

The three of us finished our sandwiches, licked the butter, salt, and mayonnaise from our fingers and nursed our waters while Pat finished Trip One to the Endless Salad Bar. Pat left to get more. Jordan and I looked at our watches, rolled our eyes, talked about how Pat takes forever to eat, how we were ready to get on home.

On his way back from the salad bar, the lonely couple caught Pat again. I stole glances at them this time, noting that the woman didn't look so bad, but the man looked atrocious. His gray hair was long and stringy; his jacket dirty.

Between small talk with the kids and looking back to see what Pat was doing, I looked across at a fine-looking elderly man sitting alone. A man with a starched white shirt and expensive sportscoat. Fingernails trimmed and clean and a head of gloriously white, thick, and wavy hair. Now that's the person to get into a conversation with.

"What's Dad doing?" the kids asked, getting irritated.

I turned to look and saw Pat reach over and take something out of the old man's hair.

"Grooming the customers," I said, happy with my little quip and the laughter we then all three enjoyed.

Pat finally joined us and we asked what in the world he was doing messing with that man's hair.

He responded simply, "He had a pat of butter in his hair."

"How did he do that?" "Why didn't his wife get it out?" "Did he ask you to do that?"

"He was buttering a cracker, I guess. No, the wife's short and he's tall and it was towards the back of his head. No, he didn't ask me to. I just saw it and grabbed a napkin to get it out."

The next day I read this in Proverbs, "He who oppresses the poor reproaches his Maker, but he who is gracious to the needy honors Him." My husband responds to needy people. He doesn’t stop to think about it. He doesn’t have to deliberate, wrestle, then steel himself to do it. He just does it without fanfare.

Then today I read an essay in IMAGE Journal by Michael McGregor who writes that Robert Lax felt that people of God should have the goal to be like God, who is, according to Thomas Aquinas, “pure act, pure living, pure I Am.”

I thought again of my husband taking a paper napkin and reaching down to get a glob of butter out of an old man’s greasy hair. Pure act.

A Taste for This

Friday was dessert day because there was a Christmas party complete with some delicious treats. I carefully chose two small cookies and a bar that were obviously home-made. I took a bite of the frosted sugar-cookie first. Way too sweet. It wasn't only too sweet, it just didn't seem to have any other flavor - no depth - the word "cheap" came to mind. The other cookie was the same. The pumpkin bar was better, but still not really worth being my one dessert of the week. I ate half of that and went back for a gingerbread cookie. I felt like Goldilocks; it was just right.

I'm astonished that I actually thought anything was too sweet. I had really thought it would be very difficult to eat just three cookies; heretofore my biggest weakness.

But my tastes have truly changed. It required no will power to limit the cookies. I just really didn't like the way they tasted. I can hardly believe I'm saying that.

At today's pot luck, I barely glanced at the desserts and marveled at how sweet the grapes, pineapple and blackberries were, things I would have put on my plate grudgingly if at all, leaving the most room for cake or cookies.

There's a lesson here: I want what I've been having. I desire what I've been filling myself with. It all comes down to habits. When I was consuming sugar en masse, I just wanted more. Now that I'm eating other things, I no longer have the desire for sugary things. I didn't expect that and am pleasantly surprised.

I still want to eat delicious things, however, and this has been my mainstay: toasted bread with butter. I buy whole grains from Whole Foods, grind them into flour, make a sponge and follow the instructions in Cooks Illustrated for artisan bread. It just gets better and better.

It's Come to This

Pat helps me "get out the door" most mornings. I do a quick inventory: purse, computer bag, cell-phone. He has my coffee. Today there were two extra bags - rolls for the potluck, pine-cones for the kids' crafts. I'd left my good coffee mug at school and the Christmas one was bound to spill, so Pat willingly gulped a few swallows at my request. His bare feet were no doubt getting cold and as I was all set to go, he said goodbye and shut the car door.

I rolled the windows down quickly and said, "Aren't I going to get a kiss?" He's usually offended when I forget.

"I'm sorry. I thought I did kiss you," he said apologetically and leaned towards me.

I tried to recall, then replied, "I really don't remember if you did or not."

We laughed at ourselves and kissed (again?) to be sure.

What Are We Doing?

I sat with the first-graders at my school. The three in front of me were eating:

Yogurt (with sugar)
Granola (with sugar)
Chocolate milk
Teddy grahams
A fruit cup (processed, but no label, so I'm not sure if it had added sugar.)

From the labels I ascertained that their "meal" included 12 teaspoons of added sugar.

There were other options, but if I had the choice, I wouldn't select they grayish looking hamburger patty or the strangely bloated ham slice either.

So Far, So Good....re: Sugar Addiction

I can be quite superstitious sometimes. I never thought I'd really break my mother's back if I stepped on a crack, but years of walking to school on sidewalks chanting that must have affected my psyche. Case in point: I think that if I say I'm doing well at not eating sugar then the next thing I know, I'll be plowing through mounds of it. That somehow pointing out a victory is sure to bring on opposing troops. (Years ago I read a book that theorized that Satan can't read our thoughts but he can hear our words, so be careful what you say because you'll just be giving him ammunition. I now see that's absurd, but the thought does occur to me.)

All that aside, I'd like to report that all is going well. My track record with resolves is abysmal, so I'm marveling at the fact that I've had so little sugar for more than two weeks. But this time it wasn't really a resolution. I just was graced with a tall, strong wave of resolve and I'm riding it as far as I can. Pat asked if I'd been praying to God for help, and I acknowledged that I hadn't, but that I've been thanking Him every day for the help that I know has come from Him.

My addiction to sugar mirrors my life. I want only the sweet, without the bitter. I want a constant flow of pleasure, of distraction. I want substitutes that are cheap and easy. I don't want what is really better for me because what's better tends to be so FIBROUS! I'm truly a product of the age in which I live, where the goal seems to be uninterrupted pleasure. I was seeking that in my former habits with sugar.

But my tastes are changing. As I've been choosing other foods, I'm finding them so much tastier than I did when my taste buds were jaded. Where I used to use 3 teaspoons of sugar in my coffee, now 1 is perfect, something I consider a treat, for which I'm thankful. The maple syrup on waffles yesterday was pure bliss, but will not be something I indulge in every day because I know where that will lead.

I made a cake yesterday and realized that before, when I made sweets, I probably consumed about 5 teaspoons of sugar just in the making. It's instinctive to lick your fingers, the spoon, the knife, and I did so yesterday without thinking, but quickly stopped myself because I could see how easy it would be to mindlessly start feeding the sugar monkey again.