I don’t like peanut butter.
Some people get very upset when I tell them that. It’s nothing personal. It's not a character flaw. I just don’t like it. I don’t even like the smell of it. My mother told me I ate a lot of peanut
butter when I was young, so maybe I just reached my limit. My two daughters, however, do like peanut butter
and that caused a bit of a problem.
When they were elementary school age I would on occasion make
their lunches and one of their favorites was peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches. I dutifully made their sandwiches making sure that I would use the
knife first in the jelly, which I like, so that there would be no peanut butter
residue in the jelly jar. I abhorred
(that may be a little strong, but you know the feeling) when I would put jelly
on my toast and detect that faint but distinct taste of peanut butter that was
a result of some careless peanut butter lover contaminating my jelly with a
peanut-butter-infected knife. I was not
going to let that happen on my watch! Anyway,
I would make their sandwiches and send the little darlings off to school
knowing that come lunch time they would enjoy their sandwiches and give thanks
to God above for their devoted father who so lovingly prepared their lunch.
One day one of my daughters said she needed to talk to me
about their lunches, in particular about their peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches. I was prepared to hear my praises
sung as the world's greatest PB&J maker when I was shocked to hear her
complaint. Apparently I had been going
a bit overboard with the jelly and skimping on the peanut butter. Jelly was oozing out the sandwich drowning
out the taste of the peanut butter. That,
of course, was my intention! My rationale was the more jelly the
better. I loved jelly and shouldn't everyone
else. I was thinking that in order to
offset the nastiness of peanut butter one needed as much jelly as two pieces of
bread could possibly hold. I was giving her
what I liked, not what she liked. I was
being influenced by my preferences and oblivious to hers. Her simple and reasonable request was less jelly
and more peanut butter.
At the end of my freshman year in college I began dating a
girl. During the summer we exchanged letters
and it was her custom to end each letter with a scripture, not the whole
scripture but just the reference. One of
her letters ended with Philippians 2:3, 4.
I eagerly opened my Bible anticipating that this was some verse in the Bible
extolling some virtue she had seen in me (by this time you probably see I
suffer from delusions of grandeur, both as a father and a boyfriend) only to find these words: Do
nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value
others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to
the interests of the others.
It hit me that day that I often, if not always, look out for
my
interests above the interests of others. The
same feeling hit me that day when my daughter asked me for more peanut butter and
less jelly. So often I impose on others
my likes, my preferences, my desires rather than consider their likes, their
preference, their desires.
I don’t understand how anyone can like peanut butter, but this
little encounter with my school-aged daughter taught me that in order to be a good
PB&J maker, or for that matter in order to be a good father or a good
husband or a good friend, I need to sometimes get past that terrible smell and
spread on the peanut butter good and thick!
