My kids think I can’t cook.
Uggh, children. Gotta love ’em since ya gave birth to them.
Every night for dinner and for lunch on Sunday, I used to always put a tablecloth on the table, give all seven of us matching Longaberger blue luncheon plates, a set Oneida Kenwood silverware in the correct spot, and fill our Mikasa goblets (okay, the kids normally get Tupperware cups) with a chilled--and often--iced beverage.
Teenagers need to be less suspicious of unknown foods.
What your foot said, “I’m tired of only being a foot. I want to be a hand so I can touch things or an eye so I can see Bobby Flay cook”?
Or liver: “I’m sick of processing toxins. Lemme be the tongue so I can taste the food before it turns nasty.”
Or ear: “Two’s a crowd. I’m leaving so I can be the only ear.”
Or toosh: “I’m tired of people’s crap. I want to be a mouth so I can enjoy Bobby Flay’s barbeque.”
I believe God placed each part of our bodies in the prime spot for them to do the exact things for which they were created to do. Even the parts of the body that seem weakest aren’t purposeless. Imagine not having a thumb. Or no hair in your nose. That hair has a purpose. Not a purpose I really want to think about at the moment, but a purpose nonetheless.
Fortunately, in a human body, each part does its job. A heart can only pump blood and not chew Twizzlers. If it doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do, you need a new heart. Or you’re dead.
In a family, a crit group, or even a writing organization, sometimes the wrong part is doing the wrong job, which causes stress and discouragement because the part isn’t doing what it was created to do. Square peg in a round hole. And sometimes a part is letting another part do its job.
Is it time you stepped back and let someone else have the spotlight?
Maybe is it time you stepped up and took a more active role?