I have a sweet tooth. To be honest, I have several. This will not come as a whopping surprise to anyone who has dined with us and seen the portions of ice cream doled out. It turns out that Ben does too, as measured by the lake of pure maple syrup on his pancakes, and his password which in the interests of security I will refrain from spelling out. 

 

There was a period early in our marriage when John and I eschewed actual crystals in favor of honey. As I recall I was somewhat snobbish about it, gradually lowering my standards to include brown sugar, which I justified as wholesome, and eventually completely caved to white. Organic, but still.

 

The other day a friend was describing a shift in her thinking. Attributes like prestige, and a juicy job description used to allure her. Gold rings, and expensive haircuts were the goal. The cut of her clothes, the destination of her vacation and color of her nails felt like success.

 

But four decades later those things seem like stale waffles smothered in Aunt Jemima and margarine. She finds more nourishment in the serenity that arrives on the heels of genuine community. Serving others. Connecting with friends. A relationship with God. 

 

As she spoke I remembered a passage in the Psalms that I once put to music. I was still a teenager, and had no life experience yet to bring depth to the phrases, though I knew them by heart. Conversion was still in my future. Forever was measured in months, not millenniums. 

 

 

I'm getting there. Rewards no longer come in the disguise of a signing bonus. Given a choice between chocolate and shepherding fifty kids in a parents' night out, I take the one that lasts. And causes no cavities.