Living on milk-toast

Wednesday, September 4, 2002
Dawn Cribbs

When my grandmother was a toddler of about 18 months of age, she got into a pail of soapy water left on the back stoop at the family farm in Iowa. She must have been thirsty, because in the blink of an eye, down the hatch it went.

Back in those days, Ivory soap was unheard of, or at least was a luxury beyond the family's means. There was no Dial, and Irish Spring no doubt referred to a green glade with a tumbling waterfall on the auld sod.

The effect of the lye in the water was immediate. Grandma, in the retelling, lacked specific details, only because she was so very young at the time.

But the prognosis was grim. Her parents, my great-grandparents, immediately administered whatever common sense first aid was available to them to ease her pain, and set off for the doctor.

The doctors, for they saw more than one, held no hope for the survival of this unfortunate child, the burning of her esophagus was extreme and the damage to her stomach could only be surmised.

From one doctor to the next they traveled, looking for hope and answered prayer.

Finally, one doctor, amazed that little Ruth had survived the ordeal to this point, allowed that, with a strict diet of milk-toast, she just may survive.

And survive she did, subsisting on the the soft and mushy nutrients found in bread soaked in milk, she endured the pain of her misfortune, and went on to her reward at the ripe old age of 92 just this past summer.

To hear her tell it, it was a simple matter, although she allowed that she always was careful to cut her food into small pieces and chew it thoroughly before swallowing.

The milk-toast was just what she needed. But she couldn't have survived on it for all the days of her life.

I'm sure that she and her parents suffered no small amount of trepidation with the introduction of each new type of food over the ensuing months, soft vegetables, buttered bread without the benefit of a milk soak, her first bite of chicken or of cheese, each a breath-holding event until the food was sufficiently chewed and safely swallowed.

Great-grandma (whom I would bunk with when she was 83 and I 6) and Great-grandpa (who they say saw Jesus in the clouds as he died) knew the value of a gentle diet and the value of a protein rich diet as well and carefully orchestrated Grandma's progress to a full and rich diet. The little slip of a girl, wounded from her lips to her tummy, grew into a tall, strong woman, who weathered many storms, and was a source of wisdom and strength to those who have followed her branch on the family tree.

Our spiritual diet has been likened to that milk-toast in our early years of faith, and so it should be. The new life that begins in Jesus is as brand new as that of an infant in his mother's arms moments after birth.

We learn of the love and the mercy of God, even as the babe learns to trust her parents to meet her immediate needs. We discover God's ability to meet our needs and we take our faith step-by-sometimes faltering-step.

But we cannot grow strong and healthy in our spiritual life if we insist only on the milk-toast of love and mercy. There comes a time when God offers, as did my great-grandparents so long ago, a bite of something meatier, and the opportunity to grow.

Grandma could have turned her face from the fare offered to her, and likely did, more than once. But her parents were not to be deterred. They would not give in for they knew what was best, they knew her need and were determined to meet it.

We, too, oftentimes turn our face from the meatier fare of faith offered through suffering, sacrifice, loss or grief.

If the meal is one of conviction, the fare the guilt of our cherished sin, we are even more likely to turn away. And sometimes we do more than just turn our faces, we spew the food back into the face of God, just as a two-year-old might when offered brussels sprouts or calves liver.

"More milk," we say, more love, more mercy. We do not want to hear the admonition, "Go, and sin no more."

But God is a Father, in fact, The Father, and He, like parents since time began, resolutely offers us what we need, knowing that to accept it, to take it in, to receive it, will be to our deepest benefit.

For the time is coming and soon will be, when milk-toast won't sustain us. It cannot. Milk-toast cannot supply the strength needed to look evil in the face and to stand. The battle is fierce, and growing fiercer. The stakes are high and they are eternal.

My great-grandparents were rewarded for their efforts each day they had with my Grandma Ruth. Three children, including my own dad, resulted from Grandma's marriage to Grandpa, and the years after my mother died were made easier by Grandma's gentle counsel and deep understanding.

Will you accept the meatier portion of faith when it is offered? It is just what you need, just when you need it, and the blessings will stretch forth over time into eternity.

"Anyone who lives on milk, still being an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching of righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil." Hebrews 5:13, 14 (NIV)

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