1 + 1 = 2, therefore you are an idiot

Facts are stubborn things, said John Adams.  But being stubborn does not always win you an argument.  We have all been in “discussions” in which we were correct and the simpleton on the other side of the table was not.  We laid out the facts as plainly as anyone could.  And they remained unconvinced.

Maybe they found comfort in character assassination, or muddied the waters with irrelevant information.  Maybe they just threw up their hands and left the room.  Maybe they even took a swing at you.  What they didn’t do, though, is change their mind.  Facts had nothing to do with their position, either before or after the discussion.

The Small Things

Some people have five talents.  They have all the skill, all the charisma, all the opportunities.  It seems as though service in Jesus’ kingdom comes naturally to them.  We are not surprised to hear when they have done great things in His name.  We expect it out of five-talent people

Some people have two talents.  They are not as privileged as the five-talent people, obviously.  But we still admire them.  They get the most out of what they have.  They do not envy the five-talent people for their success and the glory that comes with success.  They just do their job and do it well.  Sometimes they even wake up to find they have become five-talent people themselves.  And good for them.  Good for us. And then there are those with only one talent. 

Carrot cake and the body of Christ

I took Tracie to my favorite restaurant on our second date, way back in the day.  It was my favorite restaurant for a number of reasons, but high on the list was their carrot cake.  I have never been one to order dessert with dinner (I’ve been reluctant ever since I realized they would charge me for it), but for some reason I had had the carrot cake at this particular establishment.  And it was wonderful.  Moist cake, and plenty of it.  Plump, juicy raisins throughout.  A delicious cream-cheese icing, but not too much.  Perhaps the best dessert I had ever eaten that had not come out of the kitchen of my mother or grandmother.

Dinner went fine.  I was funny.  I was engaging.  The food was delicious.  Things were going so well.  And then I suggested dessert.  “You have to try the carrot cake,” I said.

That’s when she told me she didn’t like carrot cake. 

Peach cobbler and the body of Christ

Every Southern household has its own recipe for peach cobbler.  They differ widely.  Personally, I like a lot of peaches, a nice goopy consistency with the filling, and a crispy, sugary crust.  Others may prefer a more biscuit-like pastry, or a deeper pastry level than I like.  That’s fine.  Some prefer to make theirs in a casserole dish in the oven, some like the Crock Pot, some go old school and use a cast-iron Dutch oven over an open fire.  Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.  But we all absolutely must agree on two bits of business: it must feature peaches, and it must be a cobbler.  It’s right there in the name, after all.  Peach.  Cobbler.

S’mores and the body of Christ

The whole point of s’mores is fireplace, firepit or campfire entertainment with the family.  You roast the marshmallow on an actual flame, then use the residual heat to melt a chocolate bar, grip the gooey goodness between two graham crackers, and go to town on it.  Making them is far more enjoyable than eating them.  Watching your children make them is even better.

You can do it in the microwave instead, if you like.  But the crackers lose their crispiness, the marshmallow slides everywhere, it’s just a mess.  There is, however, a device that will make the best microwave s’mores ever.