My small group study that meets on Wednesday evenings 
boldly agreed last week to fast today 
and to end our fast this evening with communion and dinner.  

It sounded great at the time, 
kind of like going on a trip out of town (seriously).  

You see I am a nervous traveler, 
I constantly worry about a whole host of things when we travel like, 
will I be able to use a restroom when I need to 
(living in West Texas where stops are few and far between feed into this anxiety), 
will I forget to pack my _____ fill in the blank 
(I often forget very necessary items) because I am a creature of habit.  
I just count on my things being at home 
where I left them
(unless it's my hairbrush that my daughter always uses 
but that is a different story).  

So when I am at home, 
I feel rested and relaxed and feel most like me.  
But I love the idea of travel.  
And once I get into the traveling the anxiety seems to drift away, 
but not in the preparation part, 
not in the take off part.

Back to the fast.  

It sounded great at the time,
 I flexed my spiritual muscle as the pastor and agreed 
(in fact I think I might have suggested it) 
and the crazy thing is that everyone went along with it.  
Darn those nay-sayers for not showing up 
or speaking up.

So as Thursday turning into Friday 
and Friday turned in Saturday 
and so on, my anxiety increased.  
The pressure was on.

You see I LOVE FOOD.  
I love eating and I feel like I have been 
horribly denied something if meal time is delayed.

At the core of fasting we realize that often times in life 
we place something (more like a long list of things) 
before God.  

I know that 
but I wonder to myself 
and out loud to my husband, 
how am I going to make it through the 24 hours?  
How can I depend that deeply on God?

The fast began at 6 p.m.  
That is when the last blueberry from my dessert went into my mouth.  
At 6:03 p.m. I felt utterly deprived. 
And Dan pointed out it has only been three minutes!

(He's not fasting so he isn't allowed to comment.)

Gratefully we had a loft bed to put together for our daughter 
and it took all night to do 
so I didn't have to sit on the couch 
and miss my evening snack of popcorn.

But everyone else was snacking, Harry on cheese, 
then a serving of rice and beans 
and then popcorn 
and Dan on the Skittles he found in his pocket.  
And dear Eva said
"please stop talking about food mom is fasting" 
in a sort of way you would speak about someone who has a terminal illness.

I am in hour 15.  
Only 9 to go.  
Which to me is like comparing the miles someone has run in a marathon.  
It doesn't get easier over time, 
it gets more challenging.

But I am past "take off" 
and I am excited to see how God will work in and through me today 
as I turn to God instead of my deep desire for food to nourish me.  

I turn to God who is always my polar star (I just often times forget that).  

I turn to God.


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