Fast or Slow

Dear Heavenly Father,

I decided to fast for three days with the intention of taking on a physical task that compares with the spiritual task of forgiveness. My fast began at 12:30 pm on Thursday, after a filling lunch.

On the first day, I thoughtfully considered what I might seek forgiveness for, as well as people in my sphere I would forgive. On day two, the clock seemed to slow down to a creep, and although I was surprisingly not hungry, I had to regularly distract myself from thoughts of food. I hoped a good night’s sleep would relieve my mind. Ironically, I dreamt I ate a big plate of chicken and potatoes, then a side of stacked pancakes with syrup. That imagined food did not fill my belly. I woke on the third day with only the thought of my suffering. The 72-hour mark seemed an impossible reach.

I knelt with my written prayer and a plan to break my fast. The lack of nutrition had weakened my body. My heart raced, and my voice trembled. But as I made my effort with each spoken word, my strength was gradually restored. I finished my ritual, stood, and then felt a gentle urge to complete my fast.

Three days in meant it was now Sunday. I got myself ready for church and sat in the chapel as the sacrament was passed. I looked up at the clock. It read12:30 pm, exactly 72 hours from the start of my fast. The first sustenance I received, a piece of broken bread in remembrance of your Son, was my last step, completion.

Father, while I want to ask what’s next, I hear your voice telling me, “This is not the time for questions.” So, what I will do is be grateful for the gifts made manifest during our time of communion. Unity secured in my marriage. Broken family relationships repaired. New friendships forged and the rediscovery of old. Insights shared, truths made known, and perspectives widened. Not to mention actual tangible gifts given: a crafted gold bracelet, a symbolic necklace, a glass mountain scene, a vase of roses.

Are these not your miracles? A rhetorical question, because I already know the answer.

Since completing my last step, the mountain has remained hidden. She has been veiled with clouds, bathed in mist, baptized by fog. Perhaps in testimony of the steps I’ve taken and the questions I’ve asked. There is obviously more for her to reveal. I patiently wait for her rebirth.

With a grateful, full heart.

Your Daughter Sincerely,

Emily

Amen.