PB&J
May 2, 2001

When I was in third grade, my teacher, Mrs. Shelly, gave us an assignment. It was a simple homework task for us rambunctious kids to tackle.  We had to write down the directions to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  We laughed as she handed it out, but no one realized that it wasn’t as easy as it first appeared.

That night, I carefully removed the ingredients from the cupboard and refrigerator, and set out to write the best PB&J instructions possible.  I thought to myself that this was WAY too easy, and that even us third-graders were smart enough to write out how to make our favorite snack for someone else to read and follow.  Pretty soon, I had a delicious sandwich and a short paragraph in front of me, both of which I was very proud. The next day however, all pride was lost, and I was not the only one who’s confidence balloon burst.

Mrs. Shelly, in her infinite wisdom, brought in a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, some jelly, a knife, and some plates. She had planned all along to read our individual PB&J instructions, and follow them as she made a few sandwiches.  I remember it clearly. All of my class was gathered around the small semi-circle table, as she set out to make PB&J history with our assignments in hand.  First, she read one person’s page aloud, “Put the peanut butter on the bread.”  It sounded simple enough. But whoever wrote the assignment, neglected to say “how” we were supposed to put the peanut butter on the bread. So, she turned the jar upside down over the bread, hoping that it would come out.  The room burst into laughs, as she let us know what was missing in the instruction. Next, she read from someone else’s, “Get a knife and spread the peanut butter onto the bread, and then use the same knife to put the jelly on the bread.”  As you would have guessed, Mrs. Shelly ended up with one slice of bread, with peanut butter on one side, and jelly on the other.  We were making progress, but we were far from having a decent snack.  She went through more and more, and each set of instructions was missing at least one important piece. “Place the bread together,” she read from another, but it never said which sides needed to face each other. “Put the jelly with the peanut butter,” she also read, but that instruction made it sound like we were supposed to combine the peanut butter and the jelly in the same jar. Before long, she had a mess on her hands, and 20 hungry third-graders surrounding her with carnivorous eyes.

Finally, she got to my set of instructions. I slinked back into the crowd and waited for her to announce my errors to the class, but she proceeded without fail. I had mentioned how to place the peanut butter onto the bread. I had listed to the reader how to place the completed slices of bread together.  I had even marked on my sheet to align the bread slices like they were when they were removed from the bag. So, we finally had a decent PB&J sandwich in front of us. My pride quickly returned as I made my way back to the front of the group. When I got there, she congratulated me on my excellent paper. I asked if we could eat the sandwich and make some more. She looked me right in the eye and said, “Brandon, you did a great job on telling us to make the sandwich, but you forgot the most important instruction. Do you know what that is?”  I racked my brains for what seemed like hours, and shook my head in the negative towards her. “Brandon, you forgot to tell us to eat it.”

Why is it in life that the most important instructions, the simplest to follow, are always misunderstood or glanced by? Even Jesus taught us to “Love one another, as you love yourself.”  Yet we forget the later half of the commandment. It is impossible for us as humans to show love to others when we cannot love ourselves first. In first grade, two years before the PB&J assignment, I stood on my desk and told the class that I loved the whole wide world. They all laughed, and they all remembered.  I am still reminded of it when I see classmates of mine. I was a small child, and people all over were telling us to love everyone else, but they forgot to tell us the most important part of giving love is receiving love, from yourself and from others. 

It has taken me years to grasp that simple instruction, and still I have trouble with it. I always think to myself that is easy to love others, but each time I am faced with that responsibility, I fail. Are there more steps I need to complete first? Are there others ways of loving people that I am not seeing? Or am I simply putting the peanut butter on the bread any way I can, without regard to the end result?

That day, back in third-grade, I never realized how important it was to list even the smallest step to completing a goal. But I will never forget to list the most important one. As I sit here, and yes, eat a PB&J sandwich, my mind wanders to other times I have forgotten steps within my relationships and in life in general. In some instances, I took extra steps that I thought were necessary in order to get where I wanted to be. I still make my PB&J the same, so I guess I am learning. Some instructions don’t change. Thank goodness.