You spent the weekend whining about how you had essentially grown accustomed to people throwing rose petals at your feet wherever you went, and about how that doesn't happen now because you've moved and people don't know about the rose petal thing.
And at age 47 you somehow still manage to make mountains out of molehills, and call your little tweaks of ego 'pain,' and others' neglect of your pride 'hurtful.'
And then your daughter posts a video of an 8th grade boy on her Facebook. And you remember how much heartache your own son went through during this time in his life. How cruel kids could be. How many times your big little boy lay on your shoulder and sobbed because he had no friends and couldn't figure out why. How he had become the target of neanderthals -- even in places he should have felt safe in and among people he should have felt safe with -- who surely had parents who quite possibly weren't doing the best job of teaching their kids empathy or kindness or even how to connect with their own humanity. His problems weren't those of the boy in the video. But loneliness creates its own culture of commonality, no matter what path brought people there.
And you realize what a selfish, silly, uncharitable woman you've become -- when you know for yourself how much pain is really out there and how your own nonsensical ideas about the way people should treat you are absolutely shameful.
And in your heart you beg your Heavenly Father for forgiveness -- for all of it. For the arrogance and preening self-absorption that blinds you to the loneliness and heartache of the scores of His children that surround you at any given time.
And you thank Him for bringing your child to this place where he finally has friends, where having someone to eat lunch with is cause for family celebration, where he smiles and shares stories and says, "It was awesome" when you ask him about his day.
And you decide that today may not be a fudge day. Today is a day for leaving your comfortable, imaginary world of popularity and 'importance,' and making yourself fully available to any who need whatever you have to share with them.
Tomorrow, we'll feast again.
But today? Today, we feed.