Reaching for the Peanut Butter

 

"Mama, why don't you let me move that peanut butter down to a lower shelf for you so you don't have to reach so high." My dad sat watching my grandmother reaching her short little arms up to grab the jar for her daily sandwich of peanut butter and banana. A sacred family tradition.

"Don't you dare move my peanut butter. The day I stop reaching for it will be the day I will no longer be able to." And so it stayed put on that shelf. Where she reached for it every day. 

Over her almost ninety-nine years, my North Carolinian Grandmother taught me much. So much. Starting with what unconditional love looked like. Who Jesus was, and how much He loved me. To do what you are told without question or feel a switch on your bare legs. (That didn't take too many times for it to stick.) And that if you stop reaching for the peanut butter you might not be able to do it the next time you want to.

That last one may seem odd, until you apply it to bigger things than sandwiches or in my family's case, Graham Crackers. 

Think of the things that we reach for until we don't one day. Just that one day. And then the second day, it is so much easier to forgo it. Before we realize it the one day has become a week, a month. That thing that was a daily ritual, a habit, a very needful routine has now become a memory.

The walking or jogging shoes. The workout clothes. The pen with which we journal, or write. The laptop to continue our writing. (ahem) The phone to text or call our parent. 

Our Bible. 

How easy it is to miss that one day of listening to the Holy Spirit speak to us through His written word. Oversleeping, distraction, or dare I say it? Laziness. I'll catch back up, we tell ourselves. But we find the second day it is even easier to check our mail, or Instagram first. Then the link in our email opens up a newsletter that has scripture in it, so doesn't that count?

So what happens when we find ourselves yearning to 'reach' again? Something holds us back. Making that shelf seem oh so high. So out of reach. Did our arms shorten? Did the shelf become higher? Why did it become so much harder to do that which was second nature before? 

Guilt, shame and the feeling of failure chased by discouragement will keep us from stretching our arms out to what kept us motivated and moving previously.

The answer is to stretch out anyway, and push yourself up on your tiptoes and try. For it is in the quitting that we find we can no longer feed ourselves on our beloved peanut butter.

My grandmother's lesson stayed in my mind all these years. Don't stop. Keep reaching. Oh, I've faltered, paused and found myself struggling to rebuild the beloved routines again. But just like my grandmother's cupboard, where the peanut butter remained steadfast on the same shelf: I know where to go and Who will be waiting when I get there.