I recently felt a jolt of freedom from a jar of Skippy peanut butter. I was alone in the kitchen of my new flat at midnight, and was spreading peanut butter onto a piece of white bread when I felt a ‘glimpse’ of freedom.
Perhaps it reminded me of my childhood in Penang, where if I got hungry in the middle of the night, I would creep downstairs, slide open the glass cabinet doors, pull out a knife, open the peanut butter jar, and smother away onto a piece of white bread. My usual ration was two slices with a glass of milk.
But that night when I had the strange epiphany, I felt as though I could eat without anyone asking me what I was eating, why I was eating it, or why I was eating it at midnight. I felt I could eat without accountability, without having to answer to anyone.
All of a sudden, this simple act of eating became a mini breakout, a mini rebellion, a mini statement to prove that I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. But perhaps this came about from spending a year with an old widow on 153 Mei Ling Street, where I was questioned to the almost fraying ends of my nerves on everything I ever did.
“God will… never let you be pushed past your limit; he’ll always be there to help you come through it.” (1 Cor 10:13, The Message)