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“The baby’s crying! Isn’t his bottle ready yet? Hurry, he means business.”
For a post natal mother, she runs as fast as she can, retrieves the little darling from his strong daddy, plops down in the rocking chair and gets that delicious milk flowing. Hungrily, he makes the cutest little piggy noises as he clamps on to the warm white liquid. It makes him happy. In a few minutes, contentment engulfs him. She stares at his sweet face and shares the feeling. A trickle runs out the side of his mouth as he drifts off to sleep, tummy full, satisfied.
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“The Pediatrician said at six months the baby needs more sustenance to help him grow and develop.”
Propping pillows on either side of him in the blue and yellow high chair, she stirs the warm, mushy baby cereal, all the while making yum-yum sounds to pique his interest. Her husband focuses the camera to catch the surprised and comical expression as that little rosebud mouth contorts at the strange taste and consistency. Initial shock over, smacking his lips, he opens for more. When the small bowl is empty, he is full. Gurgling and cooing, he is satisfied.
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"Let’s buy him a Slap-Hap-Kid-Meal. They are only a dollar.”
One bite of the tiny burger by the small fry and it is bye-bye green beans. Clutching the special toy of the week and hopping up and down, he seems satisfied, for now.
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“It’s your big day, son. What’ll you have?”
The tall and strong, boy wearing a shadow of a moustache, reaches toward adulthood as he orders a big steak and all the trimmings.
In an endearing crackly voice, he proclaims, “Man, this is good stuff. I could go for a Porterhouse every night.”
Temporarily, he is satisfied.
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Through growing stages, he is filled with protein, vitamins, and minerals, but still empty, he is starving to death. Audio, video, vehicles and females lure him with promises of happiness. He discovers the cruelty in those short-lived lies. The gratification is fake, a house built on sand that blows away with the wind. Jobs, marriages, schemes and dreams, seem to slip away. Each failure leaves bigger holes in his soul. There is no satisfaction.
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Isn’t his bottle ready yet?”
The post mid-life mother taps her foot as the pharmacist fills the prescription, then she runs back home as fast as she can, plops in the rocking chair and hands him the pills. Hungrily, he grabs the substitute for the white stuff. It makes him happy. In a few minutes, false contentment seems to engulf him. She stares at his emaciated dirty face. He is so underfed. There is a trickle out the side of his mouth. He drifts off to sleep, not satisfied.
___
When his sad father found him sitting on a park bench, he was aimless, restless, shoeless, clueless, and staring into space, clutching a tract stuck in his pocket by a stranger. It spoke of death and what comes after. He would not turn loose of the paper, as if it were manna from heaven.
Home in his old bed, with a parent on either side weeping copious tears, each holding one of his rough hands, they begin again with basic milk that begins, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that who-so-ever believes on Him should not perish but have everlasting life.”
When their only child opens his eyes, he knows what they know. Together, on their knees, one man’s family gives three hearts to Jesus. Repented, forgiven, and embraced, they have confirmed reservations in a final resting place. Now they are rejoicing and praising God as they grow, feasting on his word. They are satisfied. Oh my, at LAST they are so satisfied!
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