Living amidst the storm

Photo by: Marc Graham link

Our journey with God is so uniquely personal. For one person, a certain practice is old-hand. For another, they’ll spend their entire life struggling to attempt it.

I was a bit hesitant to share my fasting experience here for so many reasons: the pull towards religious perfectionism in the Christian community; the intensely solitary nature of a fast; and because, well, it was between me and God.

Then I realized that’s not how I roll. I learn by hearing other people’s stories. I grow by telling my own.

These practices are better to walk out and discuss in public – not as an exercise in piety or dogmatism, but as a way to shape our beliefs and encourage each other.

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So, yesterday I fasted…for the second time in my life.

What I learned is that the process reveals so much about the complexities of the human spirit. Throughout the day, my emotions sped and surged like a rollercoaster out of control. On a normal day I eat every 3-4 hours, so by mid-morning my system was pissed.

As my thoughts swirled, I prayed a lot. As I did, I got to thinking that it’d be a neat idea to step back and catalog my thoughts and feelings.

7:30: I wake up later than normal and rush to the shower…don’t want to remember that I’m not going to eat until dinnertime. I really, really love breakfast – especially peanut butter. Mmmm…peanut butter.

8:50: Pull into the parking garage, yawning. Stupid sexy coffee…my body misses caffeine.

10:30: Tired and worn, aware of a serious lack of energy, I’m irritable and can’t focus on work. It feels like I’m in a sleepy fog. I worry that I’m not depending on God enough to do this. Am I just doing this to prove some lame goal? I think through the people who must endure this sort of feeling each day and go for water or walk long distances. I feel weak for being this much of a baby after 3 hours.

11:15: I’ve been pulled into thinking of all the frustrations I’ve had recently. Everyone is talking about lunch. Not cool. How much do we talk about stuff we have or can access around people who can’t? Do they feel like this?

12:45: I leave a tough lunchtime prayer session at JW. My brain wanted to keep focusing on me or guilt and I kept fighting it and trying to re-center on peaceful thoughts. It’s like hunger stokes the flames of dissatisfaction in my heart. It burned. Someone prayed that we would find God in places of suffering and that really resonates. I sat in my car with my journal for awhile and wrote. It is gorgeous outside. I feel thankful for the first time today.

1:15: Come back to an email of encouragement from Cass. The littlest things and gestures mean so much when we struggle. I make a mug full of tea and all is right with the world.

2:41: Decide it’s a good idea to eat some of a protein bar so that I don’t go home and start ravenously eating. I’d like to make soup and really celebrate breaking my fast. This will help me make it until then.

3:24: All this water drinking makes me feel like I’ve licked the inside of a shoe. Gross.

4:01: I’m actually doing pretty well now. My energy level went way up after eating that little bit. My head still aches. I’m ready to get to the next step – eating food and praying and rejoicing for it.


Around 5:00: I’m ready to leave work. My stomach is starting to growl, but I notice it minimally. The sun is shining and life is heavenly outside. I went to my happy place at Shawnee Mission Park and sat in the middle of a field, facing west, looking directly into the sun. There, amidst this heavenly creation, I prayed and praised God and was fully present before I broke the fast. I wrote. I read. I let the sun lick my face and pulled a blanket up to keep the wind out.

I drive home as the huge thunderstorm rolls in. The change seems appropriate and I’m struck by how quickly things change. Sunny in one moment, storming the next.

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I don’t know what all of the takeaways are from this yet, but I do know this: yesterday took me to a place filled with honesty, weakness and dependence on God. I guess that’s what taking something important out of our lives does…helps us get a new perspective.

It’s also apparent in these reflections that my brain is a lot meaner to me than I understood. Complaints don’t spill out of my mouth, but they can eat at my heart all they want.

Still the greatest gift was at the end of the day, seeing the finish line and knowing that God was with me. I was filled with a joy that I haven’t known or seen in a long time. It was simple, pure and vast…just like God.