“Hey, Mom and Dad, we wanted to do something nice for you, so we took the organic strawberries you picked up at CostCo and the unsweetened cacao you had in your pantry and the butter and maple syrup from your fridge and, look! We made you chocolate-covered strawberries! Sorry they’re not that sweet. I like chocolate dark.”
Give me three days at my parents’ house and there I am, 10 years old again, wandering through Walgreen’s with the $5 my mom has given me, looking for something to buy for her for Mother’s Day. (I picked some sort of bath salts. She probably still has them.) My parents are pretty open-handed with their kids, always outgiving us in every physical way, from putting me through college to paying for my braces to covering my and Tim’s entire wedding costs, right down to the honeymoon that we still talk about once a week. When we come home to visit them, even as 30-something adults, their kitchen is like a grocery store, filled with food we can play with (and we have). This July 4th weekend I’ve been thankful for how both my parents and my country have filled my life with a lot of freedom to learn and to grow and to see things that I might not have been able to see without their help. I’m also thankful they are the ones God has given me, specifically, sovereignly, because of nothing I have asked for or done on my own.
These are the strawberries we gave them yesterday, with the ingredients they gave us, and, if we’re being fully transparent, we ate more of them than they did.