“How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (Psalm 119:103)

“Do you dare me? Do you dare me to put these pennies into my mouth? And swish them around?”

I asked those questions of my fellow third graders at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel School. And, next thing I knew, I was mouthing a palateful of pathogen-laden coins while my classmates cheered. 

Emboldened by the attention I was getting, I repeated my stunt again and again, until every lethal microbe that could be harbored on the surface of a penny had made its way down my gullet.

Celebrity status was mine, and I was loving it.  But my delight was tainted by a galling truth:  I had enough pennies to give myself a drug-resistant disease, but I didn’t have enough pennies to buy a box of Milk Duds.  I was a Bronx kid whose parents couldn’t afford to give her candy money. My classmate Roseanne, who had a sweet tooth the size of a subway car, was in similar straits.  And one day, driven by her sugar cravings, Roseanne had a desperate but brilliant idea:

“Hey, I know! During recess, let’s just pick up the candy that’s lying on the ground in the schoolyard, and eat it!”

Why, yes! What could be more sensible than to eat candy that was stuck to the pavement of the Mt. Carmel school grounds? The Jolly Rancher watermelon sticks that were speckled with bits of macadam? The Bonomo Turkish taffy flattened by the heels of a schoolyard full of Buster Brown oxfords? The black licorice laces that looked just like real shoe strings, only dirtier?

Perhaps Roseanne and I should have had qualms about ingesting things peeled from city pavement.   But we didn’t, because Roseanne had devised a no-fail cleansing ritual.  Holding a trampled piece of cast-off candy, Roseanne would make the Sign of the Cross, then soulfully “kiss the candy up to God” before dusting it off on her plaid uniform. The candy having been thus purified, Roseanne and I would tear into it like boardwalk seagulls devouring a French fry.  

Roseanne and I spent several recess periods collecting discarded candy.  What we couldn’t finish eating during recess, we stored in paper lunch bags that Roseanne, who was the brains of the operation, was allowed to take home. But when Roseanne’s mom discovered the brimful bags of grimy candy, the jig was up.   The sweet swag was unceremoniously ditched, and Roseanne’s and my antics were reported to MY mom, who panicked that her only daughter’s immune system might have been compromised by contaminated Pixy Stix.

“You look flushed, are you feverish? What’s that spot on your face? Do you feel weak? How’s your digestion?”

I was a kid. How was I supposed to know how my digestion was doing?  

What I did know – or thought that I knew – was that Roseanne’s mom was a spoilsport, and my mom was neurotic. At the time, I didn’t realize that those moms were doing what was best for their daughters.  All I saw was that they were depriving my friend and me of candy.

Now, over half a century later, I’ve certainly grown older, but not necessarily wiser.  I can’t say that I’m tempted by a squashed Reese’s cup on the Saucon Rail Trail.  But, like most of us, I’m enticed by other things.  And I should know better.  

There will always be the temptation to sin: the temptation to lay claim to something that we didn’t earn, for example, or to indulge in something that can hurt us. We might even try to “purify” our actions by convincing ourselves that wrong is right.  And when all is said and done, we’ll do our best to hide our “grimy” sins.

But God sees all, and He knows what is best for us.  Often, the things that taste sweet today are the very things that will cause us bitter regret tomorrow. Our Heavenly Father is no “spoilsport”; He desires only our eternal happiness. His law and His love are indeed “sweeter than honey.”

Dear Lord, time and again I find myself drawn to things that can harm my physical and spiritual well-being.   In those moments, please strengthen my resolve to avoid sin, and help me to dwell on Your goodness, which surpasses all earthly pleasures.

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