SignPost Thursday to Sunday, Week 4—French Toast

Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22

One Sunday, after church, my sister and I went home with my grandparents for the afternoon in my grandfather’s 1957 Nash Ambassador. It was two-tone, cream on sea foam green, with padded leather trim around the dash board to reduce accidental impact. Also a section of the back seat could fold down for an arm rest. A removable curtain allowed access to the trunk.

I disconnected the curtain, climbed into that magical cave area, and put the curtain back in place. When my grandmother looked back to check on us, she saw my sister, but I was gone.  “Chris, we’ve lost Peter! Did he fall out on the last corner?” she cried.

I pulled the curtain down, poked my head through the opening, and shouted, “Boo!” After a few brief words counseling proper automobile deportment, I was ordered to sit in the seat. We were forbidden from ever using the arm rest again.

The rest of the afternoon went well. When Mom called and said that she would not be able to pick us up until after supper, my grandmother showed her forgiveness by making my favorite meal, French toast. To my horror, Grandma covered my French toast with butter and then poured maple syrup over it.

I truly dislike butter on my French toast. I tried to take a bite, but it wouldn’t go down. My favorite food was sitting there in front of me, and I couldn’t eat it. I started to cry. The more people told me that I needed to eat, after all it was my favorite and Grandma had made it just for me, the worse I felt; and the harder I cried. I got hysterical. My uncle even recorded me crying. In the background you could hear my grandparents trying to reason with me. My sister volunteered to eat it for me, but she was rebuffed: Peter was going to eat it.

Finally, my mom arrived and assessed the problem. She apologized for me, explaining the problem. She ate the now cold French toast and took us home. “Why didn’t you say something?” she kept asking. I had no answer for her. At home I was given a peanut butter sandwich and put to bed.

We are told to speak of God’s goodness, to speak of what we need, and God will provide with abundance. God fed the people in the wilderness with good things, and God will continue to feed us with good things. Hopefully, the French toast doesn’t have butter on it.

Prayer
Lord, in our troubled times we cry out to you. Sometimes that cry is unreasoned and hysterical, but in your grace we are comforted and so we proclaim your goodness in all that we do. Amen