What's For Dinner?

For many parents around the world, having rice and beans to put on the family table is cause for thanksgiving. 

If I do it, I fear mutiny.

Once a week, in the name of discipleship, our affluent family eats a simple meal of rice and beans to remember the hungry.  The scene rarely varies.  At the end of a hard day’s work, my husband strides through the front doorway and naively queries, “What’s for dinner?”

Quietly, as if to soften the blow, I choke out, “Rice and beans.”

He keeps a stiff upper lip, but I know he’s disappointed.

Overhearing this, my oldest demands, “Is that it?” as if she’s expecting a side of caviar. 

Bravely, I confirm, “Yup, that’s it.”

My middle son reacts as if I’ve just announced that I’ll be frying up a vat of cockroach larva.

Disgusted, he moans in agony, “Awww!  I HATE rice and beans!”

“Yah,” I confirm wryly, “I remember from last week.”

Finally, there is the award winning performance by my youngest, “Hooray!  Rice and beans!  It’s my favorite!”  I can’t even enjoy the NFL celebration dance because the prancing and shouting is meant only to get a rise out of his frustrated siblings. 

Without fail, it does.

When I first suggested the modest meal a few years ago, I was surprised when my husband readily agreed.  I would later realize we were imagining two different things.

In my mind, the idea was to limit our freedom of choice as the world’s poor are daily forced to do.  For just one meal we would have to get by on rice, beans, water.  The less flavor, the better—that’s what I always say.

My groom saw it all differently.  He felt certain that even impoverished providers would find their way to salvage a little oil, an onion, perhaps some curry, to make the best possible showing with their limited resources.
 
That is one slippery slope.

One week it’s a dash of cumin, and the next thing you know we’re serving sides of cheese and tortillas.  I put my foot down at Margaritas.  Somewhere along the way we had confused the simple solidarity meal with the menu at our favorite Mexican restaurant.  Thankfully, we came to our senses.  I could take or leave the spices, but it was tough saying adios to the cheese.

Had I failed to clean my plate as a child, I would have heard, “Think of the starving children in _______.”  (Fill in the blank: India, China, Africa)  In my home today, the age-old threat takes on a whole new twist.  My youngest son, adopted, was born in India.  Though he’s clearly happy enough to eat his rice and beans, I’m certain he would jump at the opportunity to box up some asparagus and ship it off to his buddies in Southeast Asia. 

What my family fails to grasp is that I don’t want to tell them it’s rice and beans night.  Do they imagine that I relish the bland staples?  Do they think I enjoy torturing them? 

On most days, I don’t.

In fact, recent polls show hotdogs or macaroni could garner me a fifty percent approval rating.  Better yet, I could bellow, “Candy bars!  Cola!  Banana splits!  Wash your hands and come to the table!”

I fancy the thought that I would be the most popular mom on the block.

Now, once a week I am reminded of Jesus’ words, “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

The righteous are never the most popular mom on the block.

Margot Starbuck is a writer and speaker living in Durham, North Carolina.  Margot's work has most recently appeared in Today's Christian Woman, Fine Homebuilding, and Focus on the Family.  Her first book, The Girl In The Orange Dress: Searching For a Father Who Does Not Fail, with InterVarsity Press, is due out in 2009.  Learn more at www.MargotStarbuck.com.