Come In Through the Kitchen

Keep Calm and Cleanse

My roommate and I are on day three of a seven day cleanse. Cleanse might be too kind of a word. Honestly, it feels more like a purge.

No sugar. No dairy. No gluten. No alcohol. No caffeine.

All this adds up to is that in the second crazy week in a row–winter is not my favorite season right now–I am without chocolate, without coffee, and without any semblance of comfort food.

Add this to the waking up, working out and trying to talk to Jesus before eight a.m. mix and it gets really interesting.

Let’s be real. I’m cranky. I’m tired. I’m hyper-emotional and on the verge of a total tear-filled breakdown. I’m messy.



Under normal conditions, I’d research a fun new recipe to try out–something that looked deliciously terrible for me–and spend several hours in the kitchen making it. I’d dig through my four dozen cookbooks and scour for inspiration. I’d find comfort in the homey smell of a simmering tomato soup or the warm loaf of cinnamon raison bread.

These are not normal conditions.

In the midst of the battle to stay epicuriously pure, my heart has been going through the ringer. It’s been a long week, y’all, and it’s only Wednesday night. There are two more days left in this work week and my heart isn’t sure it can take one more day of cheese-free, bread-free, coffee-free craziness, let alone deal with all the emotion all corked inside it.

I am in desperate need of a breakthrough.


So desperate, in fact, that I drove to my mentor’s house for our date with every intention of forcing myself into one. When I got to her house, I let myself in through the back and found her doing what every normal mom does at 6:15 on a school night–feeding her kids dinner. Barbeque sandwiches and fries. While salivating over my own lentils and brown rice (mmm, tasty), I’d forgotten that our date is one Friday, not today.

I sent my house dad a message full of sarcasm and self-detriment. His response was simple, to the point,

“Jesus knows when we can handle it.”


He’s right. It’s no surprise to Jesus that this week I want to spend more time in my bed than in the glorious sunshine of this afternoon. He knew that I’d have a staring contest with the mini jars of Nutella on my desk and that I’d have to fight to say no to Margarita Trivia Night with the crew. He knew I’d be having the crappiest week and decided to use this cleanse to push me back to him.

Because the fact is, when the kitchen’s closed, the only place to go is Jesus. I’ve been sitting in the middle of my mess all night, fighting the old desire to do more or be more. He’s been showing up right here with me, telling me to say no to a really awesome professional opportunity because he wants me to invest in my heart.

He asked if I’m a risk I’m willing to take? And then, if he was? Am I willing to give up seven days of deliciousness and normative comfort in order to press into what he has for me? Am I willing to choose to uphold the priorities I made when this year started? Will I give him this season in whole or in part?

I’ve always been an all-or-nothing kind of girl. And Jesus knew that too.


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