Years ago, a young man in our church wanted to do something special for our family. He approached me and asked if we had a microwave oven.
I’d heard about these newfangled contraptions. As far as I knew, owning one was like having a personal atomic nuclear reactor. I grew up in the days when nuclear war was in the forefront of everybody’s mind. We had school drills and we were to either jump into a ditch or hide under our tiny wooden desks. I’d watched the show “Flash Gordon” and seen how destructive microwaves could be.