For the carnivore and sugar lover hiding in me, it was a great sacrifice going without both meat and dessert (my personal faves) 24 hours a day, for 40 days – starting on Ash Wednesday and ending on Black Saturday. Although that may be no big deal for the health-conscious or the vegan, it is not so with me. There were many times when I bit into a slice of pepperoni pizza or a hotdog because I forgot I was fasting. It did take some getting used to, but the good news is that, in time, I got used to it.
Why do I do it? Definitely not because I want to feel good about myself and earn ganda points with the Boss up there. Neither because I think I will be better off than those who do not do the same. Nor do I do it in exchange for something good I am hoping will happen. It is more because I want to try to help lighten, in my own little way, the cross He carried. What is 40 days anyway compared to what He had to go through?
It has been an exercise in perseverance and determination especially over the past two weeks since Juliana and her regular playmate were in a McDonald’s fried chicken phase. I love fried chicken (skin and all), especially McDo’s crispy version. I know that it probably will be one of the first things I will eat when midnight strikes on Black Saturday. It’s crazy how I am always around when the kids’ craving strikes and I always help them cut up the pieces. It is deprivation at its best and it takes a lot of resolve not to cheat.
But I know better than to flake off on a promise I made to Him. We all know that there are many ways to break a promise. During the first couple of years, midway through my Lenten abstinence practice, I kinda bent the rules by rationalizing that mais con hielo was a beverage, not a dessert. After debating with my conscience I succumbed to the temptation and placed my order.
The tall glass came – milk, sugar, corn kernels, crushed ice – a sugar fix which I conveniently hid behind the classification of a drink. Never mind if in the menu it was written under the dessert list. I wanted it so much I could taste it long before I even had my first spoonful.
I relished the sweet flavor and chewed on the corn bits and crushed ice. I kept on chewing, and chewing, and chewing – then to my surprise, the ice refused to melt. The corn kernels in my mouth were long gone yet the ice remained. Upon closer inspection I discovered that the crushed ice was, to my horror, crushed glass. I was ashamed of myself. I did not even have the heart to call the attention of the restaurant manager. As far as I was concerned the restaurant was just the messenger, not the message.
I am thankful that I did not hurt my lips, the insides of my mouth, or my tongue. But I am even more thankful that He jolted me back to my senses. It sure felt like He was telling me that the least I could do was to be faithful to a promise that I made.
And then it happened again a few days ago. Richard asked me to drop by Starbucks to get some slices of Orange-Poppyseed Bread. Stuck in traffic en route to his taping I was so tempted to dig in the bag and enjoy a slice. It was called, after all, "bread" not "cake". Debating with myself I remembered the mais con hielo incident. I realized I was not brave enough for another surprise in my food. I can wait, I will wait.
I am sharing this with you in the hopes that it will inspire you to actively observe the season, wherever it may find you. There still is time to think of a personal sacrifice that you can make for the coming Holy Week – how long and how much you want to do is purely your call. It need not be anything profound, mind-boggling, or life-changing; just something doable yet personal and real enough to ‘kinda pinch you where it hurts. Offer it up to Him as your token of gratitude for His sacrifice for us. Think about it. Wouldn’t it be nice if, for a change, we give Him something to smile about?