Relationships from the Vending Machine

     Choices.  The glass gleams, and the selections behind it beckon as you approach.  Packages of nuts, candy wrapped in specially-chosen paper for ease of identity, crackers with cheese.  Juice, coffee, soda.  What will satisfy your hunger, or maybe more truthfully, your cravings?  Ten o'clock in the morning.  Hmm, orange juice for this time.

     At three o'clock you are back, staring through that window once again.  The chicken sandwich and yogurt you had for lunch were good, but you rather need something to get you through the rest of the afternoon.  A Heath bar?  Almond Joy?  You should choose the crackers and cheese, but you didn't have dessert!  A MilkyWay bar -- satisfying and fairly filling.  Selection in hand, you walk down the hallway and back to your part of the office, and as you go, you think about what to put on the table this evening. 

     Sound familiar?

     In the small Nebraska town where I grew up, there was one pop machine in our school, and it was in the high school lobby.  Seldom did I feel I had the dime to put into that machine, nor did our family often drink soda.  Hence, those machines held a fascination for me for years.  The sight of one in a motel parking lot brought visions of a cold cold bottle of something delecious, a rare and wonderful treat in a place that wasn't home.

     Choices.  Ah, we do like them.  Always they fascinate us.  And sometimes, maybe many times, our choices disappoint.  The first drink out of that bottle of orange juice is good, it hits the spot, but as the juice grows warm and our thirst is quenched, well, the rest is just orange juice.

     The candy, the chicken sandwich, the yogurt, they are good too, but somehow there is this insatiable appetite that screams for something different, something new.  That candy was too sweet, had too much fat in it, so this time I will try a small packet of gum.  Orange juice?  Nah.  This hour I will have flavored water.

     And so it goes.  Into the trash goes the MilkyWay wrapper with a bit of the candy still in it.  A half-full bottle of orange juice follows, then later in the day a plastic bottle with a few ounces of flavored water still in it.  Oh well.  A few cents' worth of product cast away, and I go on with my life.      

Other choices, however, are not so easily tossed off.

What do I like? Blond hair and green eyes or reddish hair and brown eyes? Tall and willowy, or petite all the way around? Facial hair or clean shaven? Brawny and boisterous, or slender and soft spoken?

Choices, choices.

Do I want someone who likes the things I like -- books, writing, neatness, or do I want someone who is different from me? Someone who has skills I don't have, for example, someone who will bring different things to my life, to our life together.

This time the vending machine is the wider world, and into the slot marked "Insert Currency Here" you place promises, hopes, even commitment. You date, perhaps trying out this one and that one . Or, you move in together, and someday you might marry.

Nope! Frank didn't work out -- too dull, lost his flavor. Throw him out! Judy is just too sweet, clingy. She won't give you space. Rid yourself of her! Walk out!

And on it goes. Men do it, women do it. James, Susan, Kevin, Frieda -- all tossed by the wayside. Too smart, not smart enough. Too serious, too irresponsible. Not pretty enough, doesn't make enough money.

But whoa! People! These are not candy wrappers or half-empty bottles. They are persons of inestimable worth, made in the image of God, and every wound you inflict on them has an answering wound in yourself.

We speak not here of calories and pounds, or nutritional content, but of lives that are broken, hearts that are crushed. And when we peer inside the garbage can into which these lives have been tossed, we see that children -- countless numbers of children -- have been thrown away along with the adults. Sure, these children may walk around in the physical world, go to school, talk with friends, but where is the sense of trust, the emotional stability? Destroyed.

Empty children live with empty adults and begin their own cycles of shopping for satisfaction.

Please, take a good look at your choice -- you made it, you know. Respect yourself and your partner enough to seek honest ways to work things out. Find some material, whether written, audio, or video, to help you. Talk with a pastor, a counselor, a friend. And realize that if you go back to that wider vending machine to make another selection, not only will you see the selections, but that same reflexion will yet stare you in the face.