When I was a kid I had a secret obsession; I loved rhubarb.  I don’t think my mom even knew how crazy I was for those luscious red stalks of delight.  That combination of sweet and sour was too good to be true, and it led me down a very dangerous path.

We had a neighbor behind our house that had a huge rhubarb patch, just on the other side of the fence.  When I discovered it, quite by accident, the game was on.  I would sneak out the back door and wander casually over to the corner of the yard.  It took me no time to find a spot where I could work my hand through the fence and snag some of that delicious fruit. Carefully, I would hide it under my shirt and saunter back to the kitchen, in search of the sugar bowl.  The sugar, the rhubarb and I would head for my bedroom where I literally, enjoyed the fruits of my labor.

It wasn’t long, however, before I decided that this was an inefficient process. If I took the sugar bowl with me to the backyard, it would eliminate the trek to my room and allow me to enjoy rhubarb right in the garden. The next afternoon I put the plan into action. I quietly secured the sugar bowl and headed to the backyard settling in next to the fence. 

The first stalk went down with ease. I just kept going.  I would dip and chew, dip and chew, and before long, I’d polished off half of the available crop.  I was so happy with myself that it took a little time for the outcome of my over-indulgence to register. A dozen stalks of rhubarb can’t be digested without some serious repercussions.  It started with a twinge or two, advanced to a rolling, gurgling protest and ended with a race to the bathroom. 

I made it, but just barely.  While I was putting myself back together, I couldn’t help but think of the last Sunday school lesson about the seven deadly sins.  Gluttony had been a featured topic.  Now I knew why.   I concluded that not only had I been punished for the excess but also for the theft that made the gluttony possible.

I thought long and hard about confessing my failures to my mom and to God but decided it wasn’t necessary.  God clearly knew, evidenced by the punishment that sent me racing to the bathroom. If He knew, it didn’t seem necessary to involve my mother as well. 

Later that afternoon, I made my last trip to the garden to retrieve the sugar bowl.  I returned it to its rightful place in the kitchen, confident that it would never go missing again.