The worst day. {Fasting series}

Perhaps you’re thinking what I’m thinking at this point: Um, we haven’t even begun the actual fast yet! 

Right. I actually feel like most of the “heavy lifting” spiritually speaking, happened before the fast. As you’ll see, the actual fast itself was rather enjoyable!

Well, not quite. Maybe not the first few days. Of course, the first three days are the hardest. With anything new. There’s just no way to get around it. Day 1 was the worst. It was my birthday, and I woke in a sour mood because I was sort of dreading doing this first day at all. Plus, we’d had a feast the night before, a sort of “last supper” if you will, so I had a bit of a headache from the chocolate cake and sangria.

Of course I wanted coffee.

No coffee. 

(I should add, I actually did have tea on my fast. I prayed and felt freedom to do this, so I had two cups a day. But can I just say, tea is not coffee. That’s all, thanks.)

I confess: I was so grumpy that first morning and I don’t remember what happened but I’m pretty sure the kids and I were both in tears by 11am. Awesome birthday. Awesome first day seeking God’s presence and letting Him fill me with His glorious love and all these other sweet-sounding spiritual things that were NOT happening this day.

Thankfully, we got out of the house and visited my parents. My dad got me a chocolate cake, pizza, and a Coke. *blink blink* Of course I could have none of this so I watched my kids and parents celebrate my birthday, and I choked down some green slimy smoothie and wondered how on earth I was going to do this for 40 days without killing anyone.

That night, we took the kids to a play, and as we drove by the store, I suggested we could just swing by and I could get a kombucha. Kombucha’s ok, right? I mean, I was having tea and kombucha’s just basically tea that’s rotten.

Rotten tea should be fine, right?

Silence.

Jeff said fine, but I’ll tell you what, it happened again, that thing where God doesn’t let the world satisfy. I went into the Fred Meyer, ignoring the nagging lack of peace that kept hovering over my heart, and marched straight to the kombucha display.

I hoped it was on sale. It wasn’t. I hoped my favorite flavor was there. It wasn’t.

I took a deep breath. I reached for a bottle, then pulled my hand back. I reached again, then pulled my hand back. Oh good grief, Kari! You look like an idiot standing in front of the kombucha cooler, shifting back and forth on your feet like some moron stuck in indecision.

Finally, I sighed. Ok, Lord. I turned around, empty-handed, and walked back to the car. 

And I sulked just a little. See, the truth is, I’m not used to hearing ‘no.’ Most things I ask of the Lord are within His will, I’m honestly used to hearing a lot of “yeses”! And, quite frankly, I’m also quite accustomed to doing my own thing. I don’t like being told I can’t get a kombucha. I don’t like hearing no. I don’t like having no options.

I don’t like surrendering control. Here I was, on day ONE, already testing the boundaries of this fast, already asking for allowances and exceptions, already privately pouting that God had told me no. BUT, I knew His goodness, deep down, down deeper than my own desire for a tasty drink.

So I sipped my water and silently prayed that God would satisfy my soul with Himself.