La la la la la la, it’s a Beautiful World.

Day 9 of the Daniel fast. I’m feeling deeply cleansed–this fast has been the spiritual retreat I’ve always dreamed of taking. Here are a couple things I’ve learned:

1. Caffeine withdrawal is painful. 
2. Food is an idol in my life. 
3. I get really jumpy when I can’t eat–see #2. 
4. I no longer enjoy cooking-although I have made a lot of stuff  I pinned. 
5. Comfortably full is a foreign term.

Today, the caffeine headache and sugar cravings have passed, and the clarity has begun to settle over me. (By the way, I have not lost one pound. Today, I said, “F#$K you, scale; you ain’t bringing me down! You’re registering all the additional knowledge in my brain not fat on my thighs!” But, this fast wasn’t about the scale.) I realized that I have relied on food for far too much. Food was my comfort, relaxation, solitude, love, and so much more.

That’s how I grew up. Sick? Chicken soup. Celebration? Cake. Love? Cookies. My mom communicates in food. Still. But now, when she walks in my house with a fresh-baked plate of cookies, I smile and thank her, then I look right in their little peanut butter faces and say, “You are a cookie; you are not love.” I often say it with my mouth full of cookie, but I’m making progress. At least now I realize the cookie’s not love.

Cookies and love. Really?

When I quit smoking over a year ago, I realized that I had absolutely no coping mechanisms. Stressed? Have a cigarette. Tired? Have a cigarette. Sad? Have 100 cigarettes. There are never enough. There are never enough cookies, never enough cigarettes, never enough coffee to fill that hole inside you.

Today is my brother Chris’ birthday. He would have been 53. He died almost 25 years ago and left a big old gaping hole in my heart. A hole that I have tried to fill with so many of the wrong things. Eventually it healed as much as a human heart can heal, but not through any of my attempts to patch it together with peanut butter cookies for sure.

What I’ve mostly learned through this fast is to feel and be in each moment. To question my motives for eating. To realize that food doesn’t satisfy a deep internal craving, it simply paralyzes it for awhile. I have learned that I do have will power. And I learned–again–that when you step out in faith, God sends in a heavenly support team.

So, I don’t know if I’m gonna lose any weight, and I don’t really care. What I do know is that when you stop dulling your emotions with food or whatever your drug of choice is, the fog lifts and a beautiful world awaits.

Day 9, I gave my food addiction to God, and I’m not taking it back. Can I share something with you guys? My husband surrendered his cigarettes to God on day 1. I’m so proud of him. Would you please pray for him?

In the peaceful still of morning…

The sun creeps through the blinds, and the only audible sound is the steady hum of the ceiling fan or my own limbs rustling quietly against the sheets. In these moments, I sigh, stretch, and check the clock to see just how much time I will have to gather my thoughts, drink my coffee and debrief before the chatter and banter of children explodes down the steps and brings my solitude to an end.

But wait, what is that? Someone else is rustling the sheets. Ahhh, my husband, who has decided to go into work late this morning. Some mornings, I would welcome his loving caresses, happily turn into him without a second thought to my quiet time. But this morning, after a family togetherness filled lovely weekend, I feel invaded and annoyed at his presence. This morning, I was almost giddy at the thought of drinking my coffee and lazily reading about people’s weekends on Facebook with no responsibilities but refilling my coffee cup or sliding the purring cat of the keyboard.

Exciting morning, I know. But I long for the few stolen moments of solitude to refuel my soul and silence the chatter in my head or at least focus long enough to hear what the chatter is about. Instead, here I am beating myself up. Who wouldn’t be thrilled for a few extra, unexpected moments with the man of their dreams? Me. So instead of being welcoming and tender, I am cold, withdrawn, pouty, and he leaves for work sullen and disappointed. And I sit here in the deafening silence of my longed-for quiet time drinking my guilt-filled coffee, reading my uninteresting book, listening to the clamor of the cats knocking various and sundry objects off the needing-to-be-cleaned counters, waiting anxiously for the increasingly urgent calls of, “mmmaaaama…MaaaaMa…MAMA!!!” and wishing I had snuggled up with my husband and enjoyed the few moments of we time rather than fighting for this unsettling me time.