Again, coming to you live on location at (now) "Old Souls at the Weatherstone."
Monday mornings are one of two spots in my week when I am free to do as I like -- an autonomous adult in the world. But it's generally assumed that I'll do at least one thing: workout. Instead, lately, I've just been holing up here with computer or journal the whole morning. With computer, journal and coffee. With computer, journal , coffee, and, ahem, cafe baked goods. Ahem. So much for will power.
I so wish it were as simple as I decide not to eat the things I know I can't eat rationally, and then, presto! Done with that. Well, blessings on you for whom that's your story. It's not mine.
I'm reminded of a line from Richard Rohr: "Trust the down because you won't stay there, it is always the prelude to up." This is not where I am staying, in this tar pit of obsessive eating and its accompanying despair. It will change. It will change.
Funny. And then, to follow on that thought, as I get to the bottom of my Americano this morning, each sip gets progressively sweeter, thanks to the big hunk of cookie that broke off as I was dipping it.
And, now, the last sip swallowed, the taste in my mouth is of a semi-melted semi-sweet chocolate chip.
Perhaps this strange benediction on my morning's lapse should cause me to feel ashamed, or sorry, or even confronted by my lack of will power. What I feel instead with surprise and delight, is that I've been winked at by Grace. "Yep, I know you. You funny thing. Just to help make the point of sinking down being the beginning of rising up, here: an sensory association that will speak to you."
Does God work that way? Who knows. I don't. But this is the bird that has alighted in my palm this morning and I'm letting it stay until it flies off of its own accord.