Happy National Ice Cream Month

In the 1991 movie, My Girl, Vada Sultenfuss, the main character played by Anna Maria Chlumsky, offers a much-appreciated ode to ice cream:

I like ice cream a whole lot. It tastes good when days are hot.
On a cone or in a dish, this would be my only wish.
Vanilla, chocolate, rocky road, even with pie a la mode.

This backdrop always sparks memories of lazy summer days from a different era, often juxtaposed with genuine innocence and puberty’s rising awkwardness. Unlike other aspects of childhood, I have never outgrown my yearning for ice cream and don’t intend to. I cannot say exactly when I began preferring the creamy texture and robust flavors of ice cream above all other sweet treats, but somewhere a decision was made and it has been my palate’s superior dessert for many, many years now.

You might say that I have outgrown the traditional flavors of vanilla or chocolate, or something predictable and popular like rocky road, but I am also skeptical of all those hocus-pocus, new-age fusion flavors that are part vegan or non-dairy and frozen with liquid nitrogen. I am a purest who appreciates innovation but isn’t about sacrificing quality. Some are consumers, which is fine. But I am a proud connoisseur. When it comes to ice cream, I am pretty picky. Most store-bought brands will not do. Good ice cream—the kind that meets my standards—is free from an ice chunks, ideally made with copious amounts of butterfat, and contains a meticulous ratio of mix-ins or fruit. I remain hopeful that one day the Food Network will hire me to travel across America in a bubble-gum pink 1965 Volkswagen van tasting and ranking ice cream. Who wouldn’t love to do that?

For the record, I’m not a single scoop kinda girl. Minimalism and ice cream don’t really go together. It seems to me only natural to sample multiple flavors before ordering the biggest size scoop. I have been known to frequent multiple establishments in one day. And not only that. Planning weekend getaways several states away simply to try recommended ice cream spots is normal. Believe me. Since my husband and I like to drive around together with no specific destination in mind and he doesn’t like ice cream, the perfect date is when along the way I discover a new, decadent flavor at a random location or revisit an old favorite. After years of first-hand evaluation, I am convinced that the best ice cream tends to be sourced by small farms. In some places, you can smell the pungent odor of fertilizer as you travel to the farm-stand and see cows roaming in the distance while you place your order. Unpretentious as they are, which I can appreciate, many of them only accept cash. Typically, I prefer hard scoops over soft-serve, but occasionally will indulge in a hot fudge and peanut butter soft-serve sundae.

My latest ice cream obsession is the artisan ice cream sandwich—they call them “sammies”—at Earnest in Vancouver, British Columbia. They rotate an assortment of in-house creations ranging from a gigantic slab of birthday cake ice cream wedged between two pieces of yellow cake infused with sprinkles to sweet cream ice cream swirled with sour cherry compote between fudgy chocolate cake. Are you getting the picture? Almost no matter what, you can find an ice cream flavor or style that fits you. At least so far, my favorite flavor profiles have been peanut butter ripple with chunks of pretzels, peppermint stick with large shaved pieces of red and green mint, and huckleberry à la mode with shortbread crumbles.

Before I get too worked up, I need to confess my reason for revealing this obsession. I have little doubt that I will always love ice cream. And while I don’t plan to go on a sugar-free diet, while sheltering in-place recently I did fast from it because my tendency is to sooth myself and escape worry by diving into a pint of Häagen-Dazs. This comes easy. Casting my cares on Jesus is much scarier and requires more intentionality, discipline, and faith that sometimes escape me.

In the end, ice cream is just a momentary, feel-good, liquefied substance that is incapable of providing peace or true comfort. And not to mention, too much of it has some rather negative side-effects. Especially in women, it goes straight to our hips and other places that we wish it would stay away from.

I desire to find my identity more fully in being God’s girl than some diehard, crazy ice cream lady. Lysa Terkeurst, in her book Made to Crave: Satisfying Your Deepest Desire with God, Not Good, encourages us to seek the kind of full satisfaction that is found in Christ alone. As sweet and alluring as ice cream is, it pales in comparison to what God gives me in Himself. With Him, there are no side-effects or down sides. Everything that He is and offers is good, so I want to focus more on being consumed by the Word of God and obeying the Holy Spirit than eating ice cream. The next time life gets me down, I need a little “pick me up,” or it is just another mundane Monday, I am challenging myself to have ice cream with Jesus and trust that his plan for me is good.