Talking to my future self

Some friends took us out to a nice restaurant here in Winston-Salem. We sat in the sunroom, wide with windows, green ruffles and deep booths. I ordered the lunch special, a salmon Florentine on mashed potatoes with some kind of sauce with just the right amount of tart. Oh my goodness, was that ever good. So good, I contemplated (for a few minutes) actually asking what it was called and going online and trying to learn how to make it. But never fear. I gave up. It would be impossible. I’ve been trying to bring half of these kinds of meals in take-home boxes so that I can (1) enjoy them twice, and (2) not eat so much, but the next thing I knew, my plate was clean. That Florentine had just disappeared.

Which is fine. Except that the meal had slipped past my best intentions and spooned itself right down my discerning palate. How does that happen? War! We are at war with ourselves. Someone described it as having our Present Self shrugging off responsibility onto our Future Self, which is not around yet to defend itself. So today’s “I” decides that tomorrow’s “I” (which is a different “I” than the one actually speaking right now) will exercise, or stop eating so much, or save more money, or take a missions trip. It’s pretty easy to lay responsibility on someone else. We’ve been doing that since the days of Adam (“You see, Lord, “that woman you gave me…”). I mean, think about all the things the “I” of yesterday did, which today’s “I” wishes, wishes she had never done. If only…if only… You can get so mad at that “I” from yesteryear that has got you into so much trouble. Just look at where “I” am now!

And the funny thing is that there is not one thing wrong with that Florentine meal. I was just reading James this morning, and he kept insisting that every good and perfect plate of Florentine salmon is a gift from God. And God doesn’t tempt people. No, it’s my wanting stuff that gets me into trouble every time, even if what I want is just another bite of perfect Florentine. We think of being tempted by wrong things and we try to steer clear. But I bet that more often than not, what gets us is wanting more and more of the good stuff.  You know, just the little things. That add up. Around the waist somewhere, or the schedule, or the house, or the heart. Treasures. Hmm. Where are those good things now? Where did I lay them down last? Let me check.

Too much of a good thing. Even books and studying and good food. James says that when we pray, we shouldn’t be wavering about who we’re talking to. God or Someone Else. Are we asking for something he wants to give us, or are we asking for something it would sure be nice to have? I wonder what our prayers today would sound like to our spiritual forefathers? To James leading a persecuted church in Jerusalem? To John living out his days, isolated on Patmos, dreaming his dreams and writing his revelation? To Jesus himself, kneeling in that garden, “Father, not what I want…?”

Too much of a good thing. That’s how John described the city of Babylon in Revelation. That’s what’s going to get us in the end.