Waste not, want not!

We have four days before we leave Tonga so we are trying to not buy any more groceries because my mission companion declared that we are just going to eat whatever we have left.
Here in Tonga, we don’t waste anything because if I have learned anything on this mission, it is that Americans have way too much stuff and throw away too much food. Down in Tonga, poverty slaps you in the face when you are wasteful.
So, I am staring at our cupboard and there are two cans of green peas, one Pepsi, one packet of Top Ramen, oatmeal, a couple of granola bars, and my multi-vitamins
And the granola bars were from our Y2K survival kit we put together 24 years ago. I am pretty sure they are past their “best used by date” but I can’t tell for sure because the date stamp has faded.
When we were headed down here 18 months ago, I put them in my backpack just in case I got stranded in a Third World country or some remote island in the South Pacific; I didn’t realize that was my destination.
They are probably edible in a pinch, but the ants and cockroaches didn’t touch them; I left one out on the counter for a month.
Probably the only thing with as much resiliency is a Big Mac or helium (If you are not a nerd, helium is the most inert chemical in the universe. If you are a nerd, you already laughed).
My too kind and loving wife is making us eat everything out of our cupboard, but I point out that we have four days left.
I have read about the miracle when Jesus fed the five thousand with a few fish and loaves of bread. But, if Andrew had brought back two cans of green peas and a two-decade old granola bar, He might have said, “Guys, you gotta give me something to work with here.”
Or He would have performed an even a more incredulous miracle. Although, I don’t think green peas and granola bars would have gone over well with a hangry crowd.
I am doing the math, and it doesn’t look like we have enough food to last four days. Certainly not enough Pepsi. She assures me we can do hard things.
I counter and clarify that “she can do hard things.” I continue, “Really, I am not that good of a person.”
She agrees too readily with my statement, but she is trying to motivate me to work hard right to the end of our mission.
She reminds me that Jens Nelson went on like six missions and reminded me how hungry the Martin/Willie Handcart company got, but “they toughed it out. They did hard things…and you can do hard things.”
I am not convinced and so I remind her about the Donner Party and how hangry I get on Fast Sunday.
People who were raised during the Great Depression never threw away anything. I wasn’t raised during the Depression but I get depressed when I don’t eat on a regular basis. I don’t know what you can make from two cans of green peas and granola bars, but I am guessing I will soon find out.
I suggest we go buy a few things, but she is quite determined to zero out all our resources. She is determined to have no local money and no food left to be wasted.
Remember that when she is “determined” is code for “we are going to do something, and I am going to think it was my idea.”
I am googling “what can you cook with green peas and two-decade old granola bars”. So far, I am mostly getting warnings and a phone number for the Poison Control Center.
She is undeterred and is sure that somewhere there is a cookbook that explains how to make a healthy tasty meal “using nothing but buffalo chips, coyote meat, and dried beets” in a Dutch oven.
She knows I worry about food. Not that I look like I ever skipped a meal, but food is my happy place. I eat when I am happy, and I eat when I am sad. In fact, sometimes I eat so much, it makes me sad.
Upon reflection, I decided that her “waste not, want not” campaign is a diversion tactic because she is giving away all my clothes so my suitcase will be empty so she can bring back souvenirs for her grandkids.
I am pretty sure I came up with that idea after we had one of those talks where she explained that it really was for the best “Don’t you agree?”
That sentence ended with a question mark, but it was NOT a question. I conclude our conversation with “I am not going to be bullied around. I do not need any clothes, and I insist that you fill up my suitcase with souvenirs for the grandkids. I don’t want any argument about it: it’s settled.”
If you are meeting me at the airport, I will look like a hangry street person that hasn’t changed clothes for several days, has a two-decade old granola bar in my pocket and dragging a suitcase full of souvenirs. I will have a missionary badge on.