The Day the World Almost Ran Out of Food (Again)

It is a three and a half hour drive home from Chicago, which means the Emperor (the one I work for) begins to starve to death approximately half way through our journey.

The memory of his last meal–ninety minutes ago–might as well have been ninety years ago. The panic that this will be the day we stop feeding him…the day we forget we have an infant…the day the world runs out of Similac formula… sets in somewhere in Indiana.

So I crawl to the back where the emperor is tucked in non-chalantly, as if he and his tiny Evenflo throne are pieces of luggage amongst the car’s contents. And I valiantly hold up this bottle–which, as usual–he desperately clutches at as if this particular bottle here in this moment is the only thing that can bring him back from the brink of death.   

Once in Justus’ mouth, however, his state of hunger no longer crushing his chances of survival, he is oddly distracted from eating. He looks at me and smiles broadly, with the thanks of one who cannot believe that–once again–this same heroic lady has bailed him out of starvation. He will not forget this kindness, he conveys through a manic shaking of his head (the only gesture the emperor can make which resembles any sort of communication).

As he smiles, the milk he is drinking runs down his face and onto his shirt, which of course prompts me–the faithful servant–to reposition the bottle, to find a bib, to mop up his chin…only to have him continue this grateful smiling, a steady stream of milk flowing out of his mouth as quickly as it finds its way in.

I wonder how many times God has to save me from my own unfounded fears and whether I remember to be this grateful when he does.