Katie: I'm going to go upstairs now before one of those cookies leaps off the pan and into my mouth.
Mom: One already leaped into Dad's mouth.
Katie: They're my favorite.
Mom: I thought the rugelach was your favorite?
Katie: It is. And Grandpa's Favorite Cookies are my favorite too.
Huh? Katie, you can't have three favorite cookies.
Actually, I can. If Peder Eide can have five favorite children, I can have three favorite cookies.
Peder [to his middle son]: Ethan, guess what? You're my favorite.
Peder: Ethan, guess what? Allison's my favorite. And Taylor? He's my favorite.
Ethan: Let me guess, Makenzie and Teshome are your favorite too?
Peder: Yup! You are all my favorite!
Ethan: That's not as cool, Dad.
I understand Ethan's plight. My sisters and I used to drive our father nuts asking him who was his favorite. Now he says his favorite number is one-two-three. He leaves us all notes proving he loves us each the most.
That just doesn't make sense. I can't have three favorite cookies. Peder can't have five favorite children. Dad can't love us all the most. It's not possible! Or is it?
Why can't it be?
Friend, you are God's favorite. He loves you the most.
He loves you so much He engraved your name on the palm of His hand. (see Isaiah 49:16).
He sent His Son to earth to be born in a dirty manger, to grow up in a world that disagreed with Him, to be brutally killed, to be raised again from the dead. All because He loves you. All because you're His favorite.
How does that make you feel?
Excuse me now while God's favorite daughter catches the favorite cookie that is flying at her mouth.