GLP-1, Tiramisu, and the Long Wait for God
My body paid much of the cost of my divorce. When your world is spinning out of control, you don’t have a ton of time for self-care, especially if you’re a full-time working mom. I found myself in the Taco Bell drive-thru on more weeknights than I care to count. When I was stressed, sad, or lonely, I turned to sweets, often eating them in my pajamas standing in front of the quiet light of the refrigerator. During this painful time God was with me, but so was cheesecake and tiramisu.
The prophet Isaiah says, “But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles… (Isaiah 40:31)
His words suggest a transcendence, a peace that I only feel in moments. I wish I could be that eagle soaring through the sky, but more often I feel grounded by the harsh realities of motherhood, responsibility, and survival. I’m grounded by the fear I felt when my son broke his wrist, wondering how we’d afford the emergency room visit and the worry of only having $10 left in my bank account yet four agonizing more days till payday. I wish I was a better Christian. I wish I felt fully confident that God will always take care of me, but I struggle with waiting, the patience that God seems to require of us.
After accepting the reality of my husband’s infidelity and the fact that this was not a fling but a new norm that would forever change our lives, I was waiting for God to rescue me. I had seen too many Jane Austen movies. I waited for my husband’s repentance. I waited for God to rescue me from the financial strain of the divorce and the unknown economic future. I waited for healing for my children and myself. I waited for justice. I waited for love. I waited…
I trusted God much of the time, but the collapse of the marriage created painful fissures in every area of my life. I am thankful I turned to tiramisu and cheesecake rather than deadlier options, but my body, my heart, and my soul paid the toll. The wait for rescue, for answers, was painful, almost as difficult as the betrayal itself. God didn’t always feel like enough. At times he seemed far away or permanently on vacation. These are the feelings we’re not supposed to talk about, yet somehow they seem like the heart of everything that really matters.
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If you've ever stood in the refrigerator light, hungry for something you couldn't name, you're not alone. This is where we live inside the waiting.
