I’m into week three of fasting, and it’s been great. I almost called it lovely, which it is, but it feels somewhat ridiculous to describe it that way. What an incredible sharpening of experience. During the day I feel sleepy, pained, I notice my thoughts more readily. Do I think more of hunger, or do I merely notice when I do? I’m not sure. My stomach hurts and I turn that hurt into focus on people I’ve hurt or am praying for, I turn that hurt towards making myself a more good person as best I can. I turn that hurt towards gratitude for how much I have been given, despite earning none of it. Despite being incapable of earning any of it.

And then at sunset, or near to it, if I’m being honest, I eat food and take and it is beyond words. I smelled Abby’s sauteeing onions and it healed me. She made fried tacos with oxtail for supper and I was euphoric. I think the meal was particularly delicious, but my God, after not eating all day it was amongst the most delicious things I have ever tasted.

The benefits of fasting are immense, and I almost feel bad enjoying it as much as I do. Which isn’t to say it’s easy, because it’s not. I’m actually a little nervous that I’ll be fasting again the day after tomorrow, but by the time Wednesday crops up again next week, I’ll have forgotten all about it.

Makes me wonder about lent, though. It surely does.