Reflections from August—Part 1: Smashing Tortilla Chips

August was a great month for me.  Mainly because everything I said women found funny.  There was the night I asked every girl at 24hourfitness if I should buy white diesel jeans to go along with a peach colored super low cut v-neck.  Then there was the night one of my coworkers gave me a future telling “cuttie catcher”—hilarity ensued.

That context led to my most cheerful theological thoughts ever.  Before I delve deeper into what I really know well—dark existential thoughts that despair of church and culture—I thought I would give you all a taste of my whimsical theology from August.

The key Bible verse that has guided my whimsical theology can be found in the Book of Mark 10:13-16.  In this story Jesus is walking to Jerusalem to be killed on a cross, yet:

“People were bringing little children to Jesus in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them.  But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such that the kingdom of God belongs.  Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”  And he took them up in his arms, laid hands on them, and blessed them.”

I don’t see little kids often—for the better part of the last three years I’ve worked the 10pm-6am shift at 24hourfitness—so it would be weird to see kids at that hour.

Yet, at my cousin Heather’s wedding I would meet another cousin for the first time named Hannah.  I was in a terrible mood that day—I stayed up all night the night before, made a two hour drive by myself in a suit on a scorching hot July day, and was late to the wedding.

At dinner, my cousin Hannah was sitting next to me.  She decided that eating tortilla chips (Mexican Food Buffet was a great choice for your wedding Heather) was boring—but that smashing them into crumbs was a blast.  I started crushing chips as well—I was desperately worried that if I was a curmudgeon that in twenty years she would be telling a shrink about me.  For thirty minutes or more she pulverized chips—first with her spoon, then her fingers and then my fingers—the whole time she was beaming.  At the time I was relieved not to have ruined her young psyche.

In August I realized I should have been jealous of Hannah.  I started remembering things from when I was little that had made me beam.  I remembered the joy I used to feel when my parents would announce George’s Pizza for dinner.  I would get so excited that my parents would always discuss dinner plans in an undecipherable code—spelling—this way they would not falsely build up my hopes.  I would have to wait in the back seat as they were saying P-I-Z-Z-A to one another and then yes or no. 

So, this post is a reminder to myself to remember how much joy there can be in smashing chips or eating pizza.