When my grandmother got older, neither of her two children (my dad and his sister) thought she was eating properly. The crisis was precipitated by her wanting to eat jelly sandwiches instead of a “proper meal.”
I was present on a couple of occasions when a a tug-of-war ensued between Ma and her kids over her food choices. They were convinced that her preference was a sign she was “losing it,” and that a steady diet of jelly sandwiches would surely hasten her death.
Ma was around 80 when this was happening, and I am 67, so I have a ways to go before I will know if jelly sandwiches will end up being be my meal of choice. But I am old enough to know Ma was not “losing it.” She was just trying to eat what she enjoyed, and she figured at 80 she had eaten enough of almost everything (not to mention her decades of cooking it), and besides, how much shorter would her life be if she were actually done in by a jelly sandwich?
In retrospect, with the gift of years under my belt, I think Ma had it right. You cannot improve on saying and doing (even eating) those things that give you joy. I mean, joy is a fruit of the Spirit. I just had to become a senior citizen myself to know God is willing to deliver joy in a jelly sandwich.