Why I Am Not Ripped

Whenever I sit at home to do work, as I am doing this fine Saturday morning, my mother will enter the picture.

First, she brings a drink. Usually a sweetened drink, be it honey or barley or some other iteration of a health beverage.

Then, the offers of food begin.

A croissant, lightly toasted, buttered with jam.

A bowl of papayas, freshly cut into neat cubes, with a fork at the side so that my laptop doesn’t get (too) dirty.

A small container with glazed macademia nuts, bits of the caramel coating fresh on my fingers as I type this entry (HAHAHA)

A handful of dark chocolate acai berries.

Longans, dried (from the herbal shop next to the organic food store) and longans, fresh (from the wet market).

When my cell group touches down at 3:30 to talk and share and read the Bible, they will be met with the same hospitality (one week it was freshly cut honeydew, another week some green tea manuka honey sweets).

I always get a teeny bit frustrated when the food first touches down on my study table, because ‘controlled eating’, and ‘not snacking’, and ‘regulating my daily intake of stuff that enters my mouth’.

But when the bowls are empty and my stomach is full, I am reminded of what a mother’s love looks like (and feels like), and how Jesus came not to be served, but to serve.

So if you see me becoming more like Jesus, and learning to always look towards the needs of others before my own, then you now know that it’s because I’ve been blessed with an angel for a mother who always, unfailingly, tirelessly and selflessly does her very best to love us like Jesus has loved her. Thanks mom. Love you.


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