Plastic Spoon

 I have often heard the phrase, “Born with a silver spoon in their mouth”. I knew what it meant, but growing up I never really met anyone who could fall into that category, until I lived in Long Island, NY. I came across many people whose lives had always been one of privilege and affluence.  I sometimes giggled to myself and would say that I had been born with a plastic spoon in my mouth. The majority of my childhood was a life of poverty. My birth mom had this gift of taking whatever was given from the food bank and making something delicious out of it. She could win a Chopped Kitchen contest with ease. I can recall walking past restaurants and seeing people eating food that I had never tasted and feeling my stomach rumbling from hunger. I know what it’s like to live in the car, to call drug motels home and to be thankful to move into an apartment that for once was quiet.  I know the inner pain from the sideways look people give you because your clothes are not as nice as theirs or trying to hide the fact that my shoes had holes in them. There were days when things were going well and living was better. My birth dad was not the greatest dad. He somehow managed to make it look like things were perfect when he stood behind the platform to preach. We at home, knew the truth. The best day was when he finally left. It was the best and worst because back then there was not the support for single moms like there is today. I’m thankful my birth mom allowed me to go into the home of the Brollier’s.  They were not well off, but they were a much better situation. I’m thankful they adopted me later in life. I was loved. I was well fed. Dreama has this way of turning a little into a whole lot. In my mind I call it the Jesus touch. Whatever she cooks just multiplies and can feed the masses. All my life I have lived that less is more. You don’t need a lot to have peace. In my 20’s things were good. I had an excellent job and lived a comfortable life. I went overseas. I got married in my 30’s. It was then that I lived in the biggest house of my life. A four bedroom, 2 bathroom home with a huge basement. My husband had all these big dreams. My son was born. He attended a private school and rubbed shoulders with the richest families on Long Island. I spent hours with millionaires who had everything and nothing at the same time. Then overnight we became millionaires. It was the silver spoon life. Money became the great revealer. Soon after divorce proceedings followed. Please don’t take me wrong. I know of people who are very well off and they are extremely good people. They manage their money well.  This however is not my story.  Am I glorifying poverty?  No.. Going hungry as a kid is not a blessing. Did God allow everything to happen to me? No. I paid the price for the choices of others. That being said, I also chose to break free from the situation I was in as an adult. This current season has caused me to be thankful for my plastic spoon upbringing. I know how to make amazing food creations out of simplicity. My son has not gone hungry and neither have I. I’m not ashamed of simple  living. I’ve come to understand that a night of peace in a small place is better than a night of unrest in the fanciest of homes. You learn that the most unexpected people will walk into your life and meet you where you are at. Strangers  become family and family become strangers. The church will love you and hurt you all at the same time. Bitterness only leads to self harm, so it’s a daily process to forgive, let go and heal. It’s ok to leave the past behind. It’s ok to dream again. Joy can be found during the bleakest of circumstances. It’s ok to eat with a plastic spoon in your mouth. God is good.