I wrote this in 2002 and am posting it now for a dear friend who loves me very well and asked for the story this morning… Love you man!
I don't like lima beans.
Some people call them butter beans. Doesn't really matter to me what you call them. Either way they have neither a butter taste nor a lima taste—whatever that is.
My grandmother loved lima beans. My mom loves lima beans. My mother-in-law loves lima beans. My wife loves lima beans. Since I don't, I have taken it upon myself to stop the lima bean chain with my children's generation.
My son liked lima beans for a while, but God is faithful to those who continue to pray. I don't want generations of my descendants enduring what I consider to be the worst vegetable on the planet. (No, Mr. President, it is NOT broccoli.)
But you know, there is one time I'm going to ask for lima beans. If I get the option, I'll ask for them for my last meal on earth. A lot of people talk about what they'd eat for their last meal if they knew it would be their last. They talk of filet mignons and hot fudge sundaes.
Not me. I want lima beans.
I want lima beans because it will be the last less-than-perfect thing I have to endure before I see Jesus. See, a filet and hot fudge sundae are a deceitful last meal, because they make you think that you're going to miss them when you're gone.
Let's put this in spiritual language: we ain't going to miss jackdiddlysquat about earth when we get to heaven. Heaven is the full and final redemption of our souls. Heaven is a promise fulfilled. Heaven is the garden restored. And anyone with any sense who has ever eaten lima beans knows they came after the fall in Eden.
So give me lima beans. I want them to remind me that this world is not my home. I am a stranger here—only passing through as an ambassador for my King. While I am here, I will watch others—even those in my own family—eat lima beans. And I will be reminded that one day I will sit at the foot of the throne of the One who made me. He'll pull out a loaf of homemade bread, and I will be served communion by the One who originally came up with the idea—with nary a lima bean in sight.