Give me some meat.

Well, I’ve just finished reading the account of the Israelites who complained that they had no meat to eat. This wasn’t the first time I’d ever read this, of course. I’ve read this account multiple times and was taught it as a kid. Somehow, though, I never connected it to the way I behave. So many times I’ve read an Old Testament story and said to myself, “Wow. Total dummies. Glad I was born with a brain.” I now realize that I’d have made a fine Israelite. I’ve heard my kids do this as well. We’ll sit down at the table and one of them will say in a whiny tone, “I don’t have a drink.” I have no problem getting a kid a drink, but I have a problem with the way it is often stated. (Actually, truth be told…I’d rather them not drink, as it just promotes more time in the Powder Room, which usually requires some overt parental involvement…) Anyway. Back to how we say things. Why don’t I learn from this? So often we cry and complain before we just respectfully ask for something.

Simple. Polite. Unassuming. Humble. Here I am, wandering around looking for meat, when I could have just asked for some.
Nicely.