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Eating Yogurt With A Fork



If I had to choose a metaphor for my life right now, it would be this: "My life is like eating yogurt with a fork: not altogether impossible but difficult, and occasionally quite ridiculous."

As the mom of five teens, I often have questions that go unanswered, wafting aimlessly through the air like dandelion down: How many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches CAN a thirteen year old boy eat? How long have you known about this project you now so urgently need $30 of art supplies for? What do you do to your socks? Has anyone fed the dogs?

My current unanswered question is: Where are all our spoons? Really. I don't know. We have knives. We have forks. The spoons, apparently, have run off, sans dishes, never to be seen again. Thus, I had to eat my yogurt with a fork this morning.

So goes my life. The laundry is never caught up, I feel like when I'm at work, my mind is at home and vice versa, there is always a forgotten appointment or a phone call that needs to be returned, and oh, yeah, when was the last date with my dear husband? I'm unorganized, scattered, a step behind, and falling through the cracks. It's just like eating yogurt with a fork.

There are no saint quotes about eating yogurt with a fork (so far as I know...) but St. Clare of Assisi said, "Love God, serve God; everything is in that." Our lives here are going to be like eating yogurt with a fork, 'cause this ain't Heaven. Our vocations here are meant to love and serve God, despite the harships and ridiculousness of our varied situations, so that we can enjoy Heaven. And Heaven will be all we have ever needed or desired.

Including spoons.

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