A pile of pancakes

God is doing that stirring and tearing of my heart again....
I say things out loud and don't even realize the weight of words spoken...

Words like ... "This Easter weekend has been so busy because I had so much food to prepare.  I have been cooking/baking for two days."  The twins sixth birthday was on Good Friday, so as soon as I wrapped up the celebration of that, I went right into Easter preparations.  Cupcakes, angel food cake, cookies, 4 layer dessert, another cake, and two different dishes of potatoes, topped off with an early 5 a.m. breakfast casserole. 

I sat there at breakfast, after the early Sonrise service, and stared at my section of egg casserole.  The stress still knotted my stomach.  I clutched my cup of coffee as if it were a lifeline to keep my eyelids from drooping.  I made polite conversation with my mom, and swam the pieces of fruit through the pond of juice that had gathered.  Here I was back on this worn and weary road I had promised myself not to return to.

A peach shirt decked with a striped tie sauntered in the room.  Black dress shoes sauntered into the fellowship hall, one untied already.  One finger was in his mouth, as he quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching him.  He didn't notice that I was.  The buffet of food sat idle, the lines of people decked in Easter finery now sat at colorful adorned tables chatting and eating.  They didn't notice the boy with the deep brown eyes fixated on the tower of pancakes that had not made it onto anyone's plate.  I sighed deep.  It had been a trying week, lessons thrown to the way side as I gave up the struggle to fight for his attention.  If only ABC's and colors could hold his attention like that plate of pancakes did right now, I thought to myself.

He kept inching closer as if the pancakes were whispering promises of buttery goodness.  It did not matter that his belly was quite full.  It didn't matter that his plate had been thrown away and the usual warning issued, "No more food, you are done."  This open buffet of uneaten food was a persistent blip on his radar that continued to lure him away from the play going on elsewhere.  He took one more look around.  I stood for attention as his slobbered fingers were dislodged from their sensory sucking to be replaced by the golden browned orb of goodness.  One step forward and his arm stopped reaching mid-air as he eyes met mine.  I was tired and when our gazes met & held, he did not see an ounce of humor or compassion. He was met by a steely glance that had been tried one to many times.  I managed some composure and weakly said, "Zalen, no more food."

"Okkkk.." he said, his voice fluctuating barely audible on the o sound, lulling forward to more emphasis on the k, grinding and drawling it out in his frustration of being caught.  Since he had drawn the attention of a few, he gave a crooked grin and left on legs that were trying to gallop, but had contracted a case of the hiccups instead.  A curly headed girl that I adore had arrived for a late breakfast fresh off the church van.   She was more then eager to let me know he already swiped part of her pancake without me knowing.  She grinned at me at the close of her story as if to say that she was on Zalen's side, not mine.  In that moment, a small crack started in my heart. 

The morning went on, hymns sang, message preached.  The tomb was empty, Christ had arose.  I wasn't there.  I was still stuck on Good Friday.  I couldn't pass off the feelings of guilt, as I tried to comprehend why Jesus would do that for me.  I couldn't get past the leftovers.  The leftovers of abundance, a roaster pan full of uneaten pancakes and biscuits.  The leftovers of my weary soul that I had brought to Easter service.  Why God?  my heart asked... do you let me have all of this... when others are suffering, carrying the cross?  Why do we have piles of pancakes when others have nothing.  Why?  Why God?  Why would you die for me.. who has lived so selfishly and unaware for so long.  Even now, after you have opened my eyes, I still forget and go back to the desires of the flesh.  My cracked heart, began to leak.  

My doubts don't lie in whether or not Jesus rose from the tomb, my doubts lie in why He would choose to trust me with abundance.  Why He would choose to use me for His plan?

^16-17 Meanwhile, the eleven disciples were on their way to Galilee, headed for the mountain Jesus had set for their reunion. The moment they saw him they worshiped him. Some, though, held back, not sure about worship, about risking themselves totally.

When I met my resurrected Savior on Easter Sunday, I had some doubts as I touched his nail scarred hands.  The weight of that sacrifice pressed heavy, making me doubt that He had chosen wisely when He chose me, a pile of filthy rags, for His plan.  The selfishness wrapped around all my first world problems were written clearly on my heart, but yet here Jesus stood, freshly sacrificed.  The question was simple, was I willing to do the same?

Am I willing to risk totally?
If I give all myself what does that mean?

That is the question wrecking my heart today.

It is black-and-white that we are the one with the extra pancakes that others are hungry for....

The question is "What are we... What am I going to do about it?"


P.S. Make sure you check out my giveaway in the post below if you haven't already!