Blame it on babies- nursing, pregnant, in utero, babies. At first, I couldn’t figure out how in the world we made it four years and never fasted; then I remembered the babies… For the last four years I have
pretty much totally been either nursing or pregnant- and thus not a prime candidate to fast.
Yesterday, not nursing, and not (please!) pregnant, I finally jumped in the water.
Kneeling down on Saturday night with my husband, we opened our fast with a prayer and a purpose, as we have read is proper. Like most things unfamiliar, we felt a little awkward and unsure- but holding hands, took yet another leap into the great, reflective, shrouded pool of Mormondom.
Physical discomforts aside, my impressions of the fast are still forming, and quite interesting. There was an uncanny, very subtle sense of something greater going on than just an acetic denial of physical hunger. It’s nothing I can pin down, or even name to allow critique. Like a warm breath on my skin, unseen and unprovable but vital, I felt buoyed up, protected, and part of something much greater than myself or my own little family.
So I find myself, yet again, caught up and taught- not because I understand the “how” or even the “why”- but because I was willing to “do”- to test my own faith, and perhaps even feel the breath of the Lord.