Back by (semi) popular demand, here is another Daily Prompt from this summer:
Snap! Crackle! Pop!
Late last night, while encumbered by daily prompt writer’s block, I took a trip downstairs to the kitchen to find solace in my good friends Snap, Crackle, and Pop. No, I’m not referring to any joint problems in my young age; I’m referring to the cartoon pitchmen for Rice Krispies. For as long as I can remember, Rice Krispies have held a special place in my heart. Many different breakfast cereals do: my Grampa always had Shredded Wheat in the mornings with dry oatmeal on top, Froot Loops were the best (and deliciously forbidden) choice at Grammy and Grampa’s house, and Raisin Bran is my Grandpa's favorite morning meal. Call me sentimental, but Rice Krispies beat them all.
When I was little, my mom would pour me a bowl in the morning, sprinkle some sugar on top, and pour on the milk. Here’s where the crucial moment lay: right after the milk was poured, we’d both lean toward the bowl and listen. I’m fully aware that most people actually eat their breakfast cereals, but Rice Krispies are different. Rice Krispies talk. Seriously. Ask my mom. Every morning, after that last drop of milk had escaped the container, we’d listen and I’d ask her to translate what the Rice Krispies said that morning. They were a very chatty bunch. Sometimes it was “Good morning!” or “Good morning, sleepyhead” if I’d had some trouble waking up, and once I even remember them singing “Happy Birthday.” Lest you worry that children in Africa went without food while I sat merely listening to mine, I am happy to report that after hearing what they had to say, I always chowed down, albeit a little guiltily, since consuming that which has just spoken to you is a little cruel. Nowadays, Special K has replaced Rice Krispies as my morning ritual, but every once in awhile, when I’m at school and feel homesick, I’ll pour myself a bowl and listen. The effect is definitely lost in the middle of a raging college dining hall full of noisy twentysomethings complaining about unfair professors and making plans for that night in lieu of studying. With all that noise around me, I can’t hear the snap, crackle, and pop of the cereal. I can’t hear what the Rice Krispies are saying.
Here’s the God connection: He is often the voice of the Rice Krispies, getting lost in the milieu of the dining hall. When we’re younger, it’s not so difficult to spend some time every morning listening to that still, small voice in the middle of the quiet kitchen. As we get older and more and more noise gets in the way, it becomes harder to hear. That doesn’t mean the sound stops, it’s just being overpowered in the dining hall. All we have to do is take a step out and listen. The Rice Krispies are still crackling, God is still talking.
I wonder if they ever talk to each other….