Today I did not eat. I afforded myself my ritual morning coffee because it is doctrine and because I had only slept a few sparse hours. Tender Warrior spent the wee morning hours battling dream time rock golems, and I spent them soothing his battle scars. I brewed the fresh Starbucks grounds into my favorite large blue mug, mixed in the heavy whipping cream, sugar free DaVinci syrup and topped it with more whipped cream. It’s less beverage and more indulgent art. I tumbled into the couch and tilted the contents of the mug to my lips. As the sleepless haze lifted I remembered. Today I had committed myself to a fast.
I had been moved to such lengths in church Sunday morning as I heard our minister describing the moral implications of the congressional budget. He touched briefly on the cuts that would leave women and children without food stamps. He pledged his own fast in solidarity with those families and the religious leaders who shared his, our, vision of fair and responsible governance. He called from the pulpit and my conscience answered. But let’s leave the politics here. The insight I gained from this small act of protest was far more personal.
By mid-day the gnawing in my belly had begun to garner my attention. It was more antagonizing than agony, but my inability to ease it shifted my thoughts inward. It occurred to me then as it does now. The challenges in my life are the challenges of abundance.
I am loved and thus committed to those around me.
I am talented and thus needed.
I am intelligent and thus indulge my interests.
My home is warm and spacious and thus requires upkeep.
I am healthy and thus capable of lending my strength.
My stomach groaned reminding me that but for grace it could be otherwise. Today I did not eat, yet I was nourished all the same.