How Spoiled Milk Reminds Me Of Hope

The cheese was supposed to be cheddar, not bleu. But I opened the bag and saw—and smelled—that the mould had started lunch before me. It used to be good cheese. Not anymore. I threw it in the bin, on top of the cut flowers that used to be stunning before they wilted and fell to pieces. The green leaves outside are beginning to change colours. Soon I’ll be crunching my way through their fallen glory, and they’ll fade away and feed the soil for next year’s growth. Someday I’ll fade away, too. Everything good comes to an end on this planet. Every blessing, every joy, every life. Refreshing milk sours. Even water stagnates.

It’s a good reminder. When the world was fresh and budding at the dawn of history, when the blessings were untainted with decay and the sweet enjoyment of our first parents was unmarred by any dark expectation of disease and death, when everything was good and right and lovely—that’s when Adam and Eve were tempted. That’s when they chose to accept God’s beautiful gifts, but reject the God who gave them. They forgot that the gifts could never last without him.

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