Last night my 3-year-old and I had the evening to ourselves. So after sending the Kindergartener and her daddy out to a special Valentine’s Day dance, we ran to the car against the blustery wind, slammed the door with a gasp, and drove off to pick up eggs and meat from a local farmer.

This is a great arrangement.  A farmer delivers to certain locations around the metro area, and on certain days, you pay online and pick it up at the most convenient spot.  Yesterday was full of grocery shopping and preschool activities, and then homework (why do Kindergarteners have homework? Really.) and curling an excited little girl’s hair, and so on, so this run to the farm drop off location got pushed to the side. I almost never volunteer to leave the house in the evening with kids in tow, because I want to like everyone right before bedtime. But we were out of milk and I need this meat to start thawing for our own Valentine’s Day dinner.  Plus, everybody had clothes on.

It’s amazing how smoothly things go with only one child with you in a vehicle.  Getting in and out of the car is easier because there is only one to navigate through a parking lot.  Only one additional bladder to manage. Only one other opinion, and there will probably not be any fights in the back seat.

We drove several miles out of our way to obtain this farm raised, grass fed, all natural, not processed farm fresh food. We’re doing the right thing, supporting local, stepping into a small community shop to pick up this food, avoiding miscellaneous chemicals and preservatives and additives, eating clean. Go us.

And then, between comments about the sun going down and a refrain of a conglomerate of nursery songs, from the back seat comes, “I’m stahving.”

Now that you mention it, me too.

We could go home and have cereal (now that we have milk), or I could heat up some leftovers. I could make sandwiches like we had for lunch. Actually she had that for lunch. I ate a Mom Lunch, which of course consists of handfuls of random stuff from the pantry in desperation. I digress.

So I asked her, “What do you want for dinner? A hamburger, with no pickles?”

Our dinner fate was sealed.  Between here and home was a certain establishment which claims billions of burgers have been served. Also fries.

Go us.

Trust me when I say that the irony was not lost on me. There is probably nothing that screams “not organic” quite like the Golden Arches.

I rather struck by the parallel between our eating habits last night, and so many aspects of life. While I don’t walk a hard line in regard to my family’s nutrition, I’m conscious of our choices, and do hope to make more good choices than poor ones.

This is not about food, this is an issue of integrity. This is about where I focus on a daily basis. How do I spend my time? Do I say I value my family, yet pay more attention to my phone than to the people on the same couch? Do I offer help to my neighbor but begrudge to make lunch for my husband? Do I say I believe in miracles, yet neglect to pray for intervention by the One who placed the natural world into the supernatural universe?

There is grace. Grace to help choose the humility that gives life, rather than acquiescence to my sensitivities. Grace that doesn’t condemn my inability to do more on my own, but gives me courage to follow Jesus for one more step in the right direction.

May the gap be closed, a little bit each day.