Okay, it’s a comfort food day. I’d like to say that I’m strong today, that the leftover Easter M & Ms haven’t had their way with me. That the pizza from last night is still in the fridge, that I’ve eaten an apple instead of a bowl of golden grahams just to hear the crunch.
But that would be lying, wouldn’t it? And I might be having a comfort food day, but I won’t stoop to lying!
Good thing I’m not in Weight Watchers or anything. Because, well, then there might be lying and that could really turn this day ugly.
The thing is, I don’t have comfort food days too often. Just when it’s rainy out and I’m tired, and I have about a million things to do but really all I want to do is read a really good book while sitting in my yoga pants, an old sweatshirt, and wool socks while the CMT channel (or Lifetime or We, or USA or even the W plays muted in the background. Happens about once a month. Can’t figure out why.
Or sometimes, it’s when the sun is shining and the birds are singing and a fresh breeze is blowing and summer fragrances the air and I think, wouldn’t a nap on the hammock be nice right about now, but no, I have work to do…so what’s the answer? Comfort Food.
But here’s the truth about comfort food. Once it’s in your stomach…it ain’t so comforting. Sorta just a reminder that you’re WEAK. And UNRESPONSIBLE. Yeah, go away little voice. But as I sit here, I’m wondering if it is the giving into the comfort food, that permission to indulge that I crave, more than the comfort food itself. Because, you know, I have to BE EVERYTHING, and DO EVERYTHING and just once in a while I wish someone, my husband, or maybe my mother to step in and say, “You’re staying home today for mental health reasons.” (okay, she never really said, that, but I WISH she would have said that, so I guess that would be my dream mother saying that, but since it’s a dream anyway, it works for me).
I wonder if instead of trying to conjure up a personal Terminator to stand between me and all my temptations, I simply said…hey, I’m tired today. I want to rest. I want comfort…if that wouldn’t take away some of the comfort food longing? Sorta…attacking the problem at the root?
Psalm 34:8 says, Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man (or girl) who takes refuge in him.
So here’s another hypothesis…instead of admitting this to myself…what if I admit it to God and let him be my comfort food? After all, the Bible does say TASTE. I’m thinking it would look something like this.
I’m tired. Standing at the fridge with the door open, scanning, waiting for something to leap into my arms. (c’mon, you know what I’m talking about) And while I’m doing this I say, “Hey God, the thing is I’m tired. And I need some refuge.” I’ll bet I close that fridge door. And find something that satisfies and doesn’t put cheese curds on my hips.
God, the ultimate Comfort Food. Just a thought from the girl in wool socks on the North Shore.