2-Minute Multiplier: Hotdogs
I love hotdogs.
Some brands rise above the others. Some brands definitely won’t get me as a repeat customer. But if it looks like a hotdog, chances are, I’m buying.
A parishioner told me once of visiting a hotdog plant. Watching what all went into the ballgame-campfire-convenience-store-menu-staple led him to never eat a hotdog again.
I’ve never been, so I’m still eating.
I’m not denying lots of cow and pig parts find a new home in my frankfurter. I’m not naive to think my Oscar Mayer or Hebrew National or Ball Park is as pure as the ribeye steak I’ll grill tomorrow.
Doesn’t matter. I love – daresay, will always love – hotdogs.
It’s nice to know God feels the same way about us.
Lots of stuff I’d rather not show up on the ingredients list goes into making my life. The same goes for your life.
Stupid mistakes that ruin relationships and dissolve families.
Intentional self-serving decisions wrapped in an outer skin of “love” as if selfishness isn’t the main ingredient.
Secret lives we hope no one discovers and seek to self-justify when they do.
God looks at us. Knows the fillers and normally-trash-heap parts in my particular recipe. Yet sees only Jesus. His perfection. His obedient nature. His totally selfless demeanor.
And loves us. Always. Forever. Unconditionally.
He just loves us. Like I love my hotdogs.
Pass the ketchup, would you?