The reason, the reason for my obesity is Jesus. It’s very simple. My parents were good, God fearing christians, and as such, at every dinner time, without fail, an extra seat would be layed at the table. “We knoweth not the hour that he may come, but we shall always endeavour to be prepared.”
The preparation went beyond just the extra plate, but that enough food should be cooked, that any additional unexpected guest would be able to have a full dinner.
And so we would always dine with that excess of dinner on the table, yet it would not stay there indefinitely. My father made the declaration, “Thirty minutes, not a minute more. Any guest later than that, whether or not they be the Messiah, should know that half an hour late for dinner is too late.”
And so the food would sit there. And then thirty minutes passed. I used to time it. I was the time keeper at dinner time. So finally the long hand would move through the hundred-and-eightieth degree. And it was open season on the food on the table. Only I had no peers. My parents in some ways took some pride in me eating the food on the table, that the good, their charity, was somehow being redirected, channelled toward me. I was the host for their piety.
As you could imagine, regardless of a normal breakfast and lunch, two dinners every day took their toll on me. But as I said at the start, Jesus, he could’ve stopped it at any time. All he needed to do was make it to our dinner table in time.
