Last Thursday morning, He said, I need you to fast today.
I was a little surprised, but not overly concerned. I’ve fasted a number of times – both for spiritual and medical reasons – and know how to do it safely. I went to work, filled up my water, and settled in for the day. Cold water tends to settle my stomach when it’s rumbling, and for the first few hours, I was pretty content.
Then I got the first e-mail. “Could you order lunch for 8 for training today?” Well, okay, I knew that was coming. Potbelly it is. Hmm, Potbelly makes good cookies and salads… oh wait, fasting, never mind.
Then the second e-mail: “Cake and ice cream at 2:00!”
Oh. Ah. Now I get it. The gears started rolling. Friday He had me fast again, just to make the point before clarifying.
Friday marked exactly six weeks before my Ordeal. I haven’t been as consistent as I’d like with many things, but the one thing He is most vocally bothered about is my eating and exercising habits. It’s getting to crunch time now, and He’s buckling down on me.
We don’t keep much in the way of junk in the house; it’s like that by design. Kit has dietary restrictions due to allergies and medical necessity; I’m supposed to have dietary restrictions due to my own medical history. He’s doing a lot better with his than I do with mine, mainly because there is craptastic food at my job at least twice a week, if not more, and my self-control sucks. (If I have dollar bills or change, I am visiting the vending machine. It’s part of why I normally don’t.)
Back when my office first moved, I was thrilled because it meant more movement. I walk five miles a week now, which is huge for me. I made grand plans of walking home for lunch, saving me funds and calories over what I was ordering in before. I also made plans to bring lunch more often, to keep food in my “desk pantry,” trying to do better by myself.
Well, my “desk pantry” food tends to be just as junky as the rest of the crap around here. I’d bring food and leave it in the fridge just to eat the delivered junk. I haven’t been walking home for lunch at all, preferring to sit at my desk and be a lump.
I don’t get that option now.
The deal is this: I eat breakfast at home, before leaving for work. I drink water all morning. I walk home for lunch and walk back for the afternoon. I drink water all afternoon. I go home and have a reasonable snack (a glass of milk or something else small) before settling in for a nap. I make dinner, share with Kit if it’s Date Night, or choose something reasonable if it’s Grocery Night. If I get up too late to eat breakfast at home, I wait until lunch. If I’m too lazy to get off my butt and go home for lunch, I wait until I get home. But unless I get permission from Him, I don’t eat at work.
This is not a bad plan. There’s really no reason why I have to be hungry all day if I’ll get off my keister. I got up at my normal snooze-time today (6:10) and still had time to get a bowl of cereal while I was getting ready for work. I even put on makeup this morning. Walking back home for lunch means doubling my walking time to ten miles a week, which can’t hurt me a bit (although I should probably get some better walking shoes). And it means a lighter load on my shoulders while walking, since without bringing food or lunchtime diversions, I’m down to carrying just my normal shoulder bag.
No, it’s not a purse.
Anyway. He has never yet steered me wrong, and this plan makes a lot of sense. It starts today and will last at least until Beltane; such is the mandate. Perhaps by then it may even be a habit. It would be a nice one – and a lovely break in the day.