Torture by Yams

Water boarding, sleep deprivation, and . . . yams.  Who new that roasted yams would inflict such agony on the mouth of my 4 year old.  Earlier in the day he watched me peel and slice the interesting orange root vegetable.  After all, orange is his favorite color.  I spread the little orange circles on the roasting pan, drizzled with oil and copious amounts of cinnamon, and put those beauties in the oven.  When dinner time came, and knowing my little big guy's bouts of pickiness, I doled out 4 little yams to his plate.  He devoured the rest of the contents of the plate but would not touch the yams.  After much discussion and futile attempts at bargaining down the number with feverish recounts, Shane and I stuck to our guns and required the consumption of said vegetable.  There was great weeping and gnashing of teeth, a failed attempt at a biblical connection made by mom, and a sacrificial yam eaten by dad.

After it was finished, I couldn't help but make the connection in my own life.  How many times has God given me good gifts that I have only received with anger, tears, or with arms crossed and a pouty face.  With hindsight, how many times have I seen God's magnificent provision and the great wisdom of His plan instead of mine.