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Once upon a time, there lived a couple and their young son. One day, their househelp wasn’t feeling well. The husband quickly dashed to a nearby pharmacy and bought her some medicine.
When he got home, he couldn’t find the househelp in the main house. Just as he was heading to check the quarters, his wife hurried past him into the car and called out, “Honey, we need to leave now. We’re already late!”
In the rush, he left the medicine on the dining table and joined his wife. They drove off to a party.
Not long after, their four-year-old son wandered out of his room into the dining area. He noticed the pack of medicine on the table and, curious, opened it. Inside were bright-coloured pills that looked just like the chocolate pebbles he loved to eat.
He picked out eight and popped one into his mouth. It tasted sweet—just like candy.
Just then, he heard the househelp’s footsteps. Panicked at the thought of being caught stealing what he thought were treats, the little boy quickly swallowed the remaining seven and ran back to his room.
What he didn’t know was that those tablets were an adult dose meant to be taken over four days.
His small body couldn’t handle it. By the time his parents returned from the party, their little boy was gone.
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Life is full of sugar-coated tablets.
These are the things we take on because of how sweet they seem, without fully understanding their weight or purpose. The pleasure blinds us.
Think about it.
We work hard every day to feed our bodies. We earn money, shop, cook, and clean. It’s tiring, repetitive work. But the pleasure of eating—the taste—makes it feel worth it.
Childbirth is another one. Nine months of discomfort, fatigue, and pain. And yet, the joy of holding that newborn baby makes us forget the struggle. Sometimes, it even makes us want to do it all over again.
Falling in love is perhaps the most sugar-coated experience of all. The attraction, the emotions, the thrill—it’s sweet. So sweet that many commit to lifelong relationships based on it. But over time, the real work of love begins, and it’s no longer about how it feels—it’s about what it costs.
Even sex, as Richard Foster puts it in Money, Sex & Power, is “a mixture of tenderness and halitosis, love and fatigue, ecstasy and disappointment” that produces a union the biblical writers call “one flesh.” But we often only see the sugarcoating.
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For any undertaking, pleasure isn't the purpose. It's just the sugarcoating. And while it can help us endure or even enjoy life’s responsibilities, it should never be the reason we take them on.
Therefore:
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Don’t take on anything just because it feels good. The value isn’t in how it feels, but what it forms [in you]. In this life, pleasure isn’t the destination—it’s just part of the packaging.
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Choose things whose true purpose you can handle. Don’t be like the little boy—drawn in by the sweet, unaware of the cost.
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If something is being sold purely on how it makes you feel, pause. That feeling is just a thin sugar layer.
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Remember that pleasure is fleeting. Eventually, you’ll taste what’s underneath—and that’s where the real challenge (and growth) begins.
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Stay committed even when the sweetness wears off. That’s when the real work—and real purpose—begins.
Sugar makes the bitter pill go down. But if you live for the pleasure alone, you might swallow something you cannot handle.
Be wise. Look beyond the coating. Ask what the purpose is—and whether you're ready for it.
Because in the end, it’s not about how it tastes going down. It’s about what it does to you after.
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