Well, while everyone was trying to figure out what Jesus would do, I was pondering the deeper mysteries about Jesus, like what he would eat. And what I would feed him if he was as hungry as me.
Mostly I would ponder these questions during trips to Mt. Carmel while sitting around the grave sites of my dead relatives, listening to my living relatives cry and testify of the truthfulness of the plan of salvation. Not that I had anything against the plan, but just once I would have liked to hear them testify of the truthfulness of roast beef and gravy. Or mashed potatoes and gravy. Or corn on the cob and gravy.
But why feed the bellies of the living when you could be mourning the souls of the dead? That's what they always say.
That's behind me now and I haven't thought about what Jesus would eat in a long, long time.
Until a few days ago. When I invited some of our old friends from Hawaii over for dinner--namely my son's best friend, and my children's third grade teacher, and their families, and of course, Martha's boy.
It felt like Jesus was actually coming to dinner, that's how excited I got. I wanted to prepare a feast for the multitudes. On these plates.
Which I spent $12 on because when I saw them at Costco I thought, YES! No. YES! No. What would Jesus do?
(Father forgive me!)
I was going to keep the whole dinner party simple, but with plates like these, I had to buy food to match, right? So I spent the entire day shopping and chopping. I kid not. I nearly put myself into a coma, that's how much energy I expended. Instead I put my oven into a coma, so the baked beans were still a little crunchy by the time our guests arrived. Oh, and I forgot to hit the ON button on my rice cooker, so the rice was a little crunchy too. And I forgot to stir the lemonade. And salt the pasta salad.
But the hot dogs and Yoshida chicken were deeeeevine. (Thank you honey bunches of oats!) And the Nilla Wafer salad was deeeeelish!
Besides the menu malfuntions, the night went off without a hitch.
Luckily I had enough energy and foresight left over from the meal preparations to go through and mess up my house a little bit before my Hawaii peeps arrived--just enough so they wouldn't notice how close I have become to being translated now that I live in Utah.
There's a moral here. There's a definite moral here. If there's one thing I've learned about myself since I moved to Utah it's that I love making new friends, and I love seeing old friends, but mostly I love seeing my friends shoes . . .