Jesus, Be My Breadstick

One of my best friends has given up coffee for lent. She said she wanted to look to Jesus the way she typically wakes up looking for coffee: needy, thirsty and ready to feel the warmth around her fingers as she holds the warm mug and takes in the savory smells. Not to mention the immediate jolt the coffee makes her feel. She wondered if she could begin to look to Jesus for that comfort instead of coffee.

I wonder too.

A few weeks ago, Dave & I had lunch at Fazoli’s. You know the place right? The one that gives out endless deathsticks 150-calorie-each bread sticks.

In all of my life, I’ve never been able to leave Fazoli’s without at least eating three.

At least.

As we sat there, I was contemplating my 4th bread stick. Yep, that’s a whopping 600 calories. But, hey who’s counting?

Not me. Obviously.

I couldn’t help but think of my friend who is trying to master her desire for the morning cuppa Joe. I prayed a silent prayer to myself, “Jesus, be my bread stick.”

Not that I’ve given up bread sticks for lent. Clearly. But simply because I don’t need it, I’m gaining weight by the day it seems and I’m squarely in a phase of life where I am comfort eating like a mug.

A month ago I started this post with “guess whose winning the battle against the baby bulge? ME!”

Not anymore my friends, not any more. The baby bulge monster wrestled me to the ground and made me say uncle.

Jesus, be my bread stick.

And, um, well, my red velvet cake…