Zucchini, bell peppers, onions, and tomatoes, all in a yummy sauce  with pasta noodles, I proudly said as my six year-old stepdaughter paraded into the kitchen asking what I made for dinner. I had just come from working nine hours behind a desk, spending 55 minutes squeezing in a workout, and whipped up pasta primavera from scratch when in one easy swoop, Ryen removed my sash and crown as reigning SuperStepMom.

Ryry, I promise you’re going to looooove it! And vegetables are good for you. They help you grow. My attempts at convincing her that this meal made with love was actually approved by the FDA’s food pyramid didn’t convince her either. When I placed the food on the table, she laid her forehead on the table and begged me with tears in her eyes, B, please, pleeeeeeease can we have mac-n-cheese!? I beg of you. I BEG of you!

By her expression, you would think she was asking for a pardon from life imprisonment. It was vegetables, not a jail cell, Internet.

As I watched her dramatically try to convince me that life as we know it could be so much better if I open a box of Kraft Mac-n-Cheese, I saw my own reflection in her tear-stained face. She earnestly cried out for something different. She begged—no, implored—me to change her situation in life. As a parent, I had the power to change it. But her pain and discomfort—true or imagined—was not my concern. I love her enough to know:

1. Regardless of what she says, vegetables will not kill her but make her healthier
2. I love her too much to give into her wanton desires

I sprinkled some fresh parmesan cheese on top of her bowl as she whimpered lightly, face still planted on the table. I told her I loved her and because I loved her I wanted the best for her. She picked up her fork and took a bite. And another one. And another one.

Parenting is weird. It’s like living out a divine screenplay where children play atheist to their parents. They’re made in the parent’s image, yet deny their existence or authority. As Ryen ate her pasta primavera, I couldn’t help but see myself in her reaction.

God asks me to do something that will undoubtedly have a redeeming end [Ro8:38], but I beg and cry and plead for something else. Instead of having the best homemade pasta in the world, I would prefer a processed, artificial, powdered cheese substitute.

1. Regardless of what God asks of me, it’s going to make me healthier
2. He loves me too much to let me have my way

Half way through the meal, Ryry looks up, puts her fork down, and sprints over to me. Her flailing arms reach around my neck and she says, I love you, B. In that moment, all was centered in the cosmos.

God isn’t as concerned with your personal preference as He is your personal betterment. Enjoy what He serves you. You might just like it. 😉