Why I remember this strange moment so clearly, I have no idea. But my little-girl philosophy has followed me into teenagehood, so I suppose I should take this moment seriously. Analyze it, try to make sense of it.
Anyway, there I was, straining to sip my favorite drink through that tiny opening, slurping and causing my mother a considerable amount of distress. And when she asked me why I insisted on drinking through that ridiculously small contraption, I told her:
"I enjoy things more when I have to work for them."
And as the seven-year-old me spoke these words, I felt an immense sense of satisfaction. Certainly those that work hard for their earnings are better than those that don't. I knew immediately that I was above those spoiled kindergardeners who simply brought their orange juice to their mouths in large, messy gulps. They didn't deserve the juice if they weren't willing to work for it like I was. In fact, I intentionally made the task of drinking more difficult just to prove how worthy I was of the tangy goodness.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Oh, how wrong I still am.
I am seven-year-old Caetlyn every single day of my life.
I sit in front of an ocean of freshly-squeezed orange juice, and yet I refuse to drink freely. I bring my sad little straw with me and bruise my cheeks in my effort to do things "The Right Way". I refuse to accept that anything as sweet as orange juice, as sweet as unconditional love, as sweet as grace, could be mine without me earning it. So I make rules for myself and others. I judge, I compare. I stick my straw in places where it shouldn't be.
And then Jesus, being the magnificent savior He is, breaks that straw into a thousand pieces.
For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith--and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God. Ephesians 2:8Did you know, friends, that orange juice taste so much much sweeter when gulped straight from the glass?
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