Here's Pastor
Dave McDowell's weekly devotional that he sends out to members of his church.
Dave is my brother and serves as the Music Minister at Stewartstown UMC in
PA.
I'm not so much
a hater.
I just don't want to be a
participator....
But make me a gladiator.
Let me
explain.
I'm not a big Fat Tuesday
fan.
I don't buy into the eat,
drink and be merry,
for tomorrow we die
mentality.
I prefer the eat healthy,
drink plenty of water,
and exercise regularly so that
I can live past tomorrow philosophy.
I work in a place where
Fasnachts are
made
by the hundreds on the Monday
before Ash Wednesday.
For the
uninformed,
they are a donut like
pastry
made of flour and sugar and
deep fried in
oil.
It comes from the Pennsylvania
Dutch tradition
of clearing the household of all
such ingredients
so as to abstain from such
things during the
40 days of
Lent.
Don't get me
wrong,
I am like everyone
else.
I eat too many cookies at
Christmas.
I've been known to take an extra
helping of dessert.
I do not boycott birthday
cakes.
It's just that I don't get the
connection
of ingesting large quantities of
fat and calories one day
for the purpose of depriving the
same for forty more days
thus finding favor with the
creator of the universe.
And so with my will power
intact,
off I went to the gym at lunch on
Fat Tuesday,
for my 30 minute treadmill
run.
Treadmill # 12 to be
exact.
You know the one I
mean.
It sits at the end of the
row,
next to the physical trainers
private room.
The door to the room is normally
closed.
But today the door was slightly
ajar.
It was at .5 miles that I noticed
it.
(When on a
treadmill,
one has plenty of time to notice
lots of things)
Through the opening of the
door,
I could see on the table inside
the room,
a big bag of potato
chips.
Believing fully in the
integrity
of a space set aside for
health,
and in the integrity of all the
trainers within such said space,
I surmised that the chips must
have
been confiscated from
some
weightlifter gone
mad.
And on I
ran.
It was at 1.2 miles the the
custodian
came by and entered the trainer's
room.
That's when I saw the
beverages.
The beverage
bar........
sodas, sweet teas,
punch,
it was all
there
complete with
ice.
This was no collection of
contraband, I realized.
There was a party brewing six feet
from treadmill #12
in the trainers
room,
and I was the unfortunate
witness.
If my gym had
been Scotland,
then I was ready to be William
Wallace,
prepared to fight as
Braveheart
against the infidels of
slothfulness and gluttony.
Defiantly,
I raised the
incline
and increased the
pace,
fully confident that I ran
for
all that was noble and
good.
It was at the 2.3 mile mark
that the soul of this
warrior
was tested to its breaking
point.
A trainer entered the
gym
with paper bag in
hand.
Like a
drinker
trying to hide her need within a
brown paper bag,
she quickly took the
bag
to the trainer's now room of
shame,
and closed the
door.
But I had seen those brown bags
before.
While brown paper could hide the
contents,
it could not conceal the telltale
sign of grease,
now soaking through the bottom of
the bag.
Nor could the paper contain the
aroma of freshly baked flour & sugar,
Fashnachts had infiltrated
this fair land of health and wellness.
I, William Wallace, of treadmill
#12,
had to
choose.
Should I run from the
battle that I faced,
or should I run into the
face of the gluttonous enemy?
Aye, I choose to run for the glory
of treadmill #12
Fastnachts may take our
lives,
but they will never take our
freedom! *
I returned to work after 3
victorious miles,
returning to the smell of
grease,
returning to the sound of humanity
entering the building
to pick up their
Fastnachts,
returning to the aroma of
pastry
that seeked to mock my lunch of
soup and salad.
Spending the day around
Fastnachts
without partaking is not
easy.
Neither is living in this
world.
Temptations are
everywhere,
the obvious and the not so
obvious.
To some temptations, we
succumb,
to others we
triumph.
I don't believe that God expects
us to triumph always,
for He knows our weaknesses and
our bent to sin.
That's why the 40 day journey of
Lent leads to the cross.
What I do believe He expects
from His children,
is to live in relationship
with Him,
to continually encounter
Him,
and to live out our lives as
worship
that is a pleasing sacrifice
to Him.
You might not feel that you have a
warrior heart like William Wallace,
but God wishes to give us hearts
that seeks to worship Him.
And when that worship continues
to
include all that we think and
do,
then we more fully know the heart of God.
May your Lent be a fresh journey
to the cross,
and ultimately to the greatest
warrior of all,
and to His empty
tomb.
I urge you therefore
brethren,
by the mercies of
God,
to present your bodies a living and
holy sacrifice,
acceptable to God,
which is your spiritual service of
worship.
Romans 12:1
.
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