SOME CHILDREN are “good eaters” and others are “bad eaters.” My kids happen to fall into the latter category. I am always amazed that, whenever they are placed on a scale, they appear to be gaining weight. My theory is that my children, like plants, have the capability to photosynthesize sunlight into nutrients. In fact, whenever they do not finish their dinner (which is every night), I take a large floodlight and shine it on them for about a minute or two. I am convinced that this works. Our pediatrician think that I’m nuts but doesn’t complain because our children are still maintaining the appropriate weight gain for their age.
“Your kids look great!” says our pediatrician.
“But my kids don’t eat!”
“Well if you look at their growth chart, they appear to be gaining weight just fine.”
“But they don’t eat!”
“Well they must be eating something. Look at their chart. It’s definitive proof of eating.”
Then, slightly annoyed because of my pediatricians lack of fundamental medical knowledge, I reply, “It’s the sun! They turn sunlight into fat. I’m convinced of it!”
“Very funny Mr. Koo, we’ll see you in six months for their next checkup.” Then, before finally walking out the door, he turns around and gives me one final parting snub, “Oh yeah… Don’t forget to water them too! And I almost forgot, give them some fertilizer every three weeks!”
Obviously, I’m just making this up! There is no way I would ever shine a floodlight on my children without first watering them and applying the right amount of fertilizer. The point is that we, as parents, will go to any means possible to get our kids to eat their food. Nothing is beneath us and we have tried everything from distracting them with random noises, using potato chips and candy as bribery, smothering fruit with whip cream or caramel, and slipping small bits of food in their mouth while they are busy playing with their toys.
One day after church, I can remember walking on the sidewalk with my eldest daughter, Jacey, who was two years old at the time. While she was happily strolling and bobbing, I was attempting to sneak some chicken strips into her mouth (while being careful not to block the sunlight). Because she was still a little wobbly on her feet, I kept asking her to hold my hand. The conversation went something like this:
“Jacey, take my hand please.”
“Jacey, give me your hand so that you won’t fall.”
“Will you just take my hand!”
“Do you want to fall?
“Then, take my hand!”
After about two minutes of this stimulating and productive conversation, I gave up and resigned myself to walking closely behind her ready to catch her if she fell.
Then suddenly, she stopped, turned around, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “Daddy, hand?”
I was beaming. I reached out my hand ready to take hers in a special father-daughter bonding time. At that moment, she opened her mouth, screwed up her face, and spit out the entire contents of her mouth into my hand… so much for bonding time! Where’s my floodlight?
So what does all this have to do with worship? I dunno. But my children make me laugh which I find worshipful.