What I Gave Up for Lent: No Joke

Several years ago, I joked I had given up Brussels sprouts for lent, and it got a few chuckles. I always try to be funny, so every Lenten season I would whip out old “Brussels sprouts” a few times.

This year though, I saw someone else post it on Facebook, and that ruined it for me. It was getting old, anyway. And it was starting to make Kim grind her teeth.

So I had a thought: Instead of joking about it, why don’t I really give up something for lent? I had been inspired by the preacher’s sermon the previous Sunday. And almost immediately I felt divine intervention. I was going to do it. Cue the trumpets.

But what would I give up?

A couple of years ago, Kim gave up red meat, and she somehow survived. I figured if she could do it, I could at least give it a stab. I can live without steaks until Easter, I thought. So I proclaimed it. Heck, it would be healthy to boot. And while the angels were still singing in the heat of the moment, I decided to ditch fried potatoes, too.

And then in a move that would make John Wesley flip his wig, I decided to give up an hour’s worth of sleep each morning. No problem. I have more to do in a day than I can ever accomplish, anyway.

Fast forward to Ash Wednesday. The alarm clock sounded like a cannon. I grabbed my phone and googled, “When does lent start for Protestants?” (Like there’s a difference, I know. But it was early.) I thought maybe it didn’t start until the day after Ash Wednesday. Or, maybe there was a loophole for well-meaning Methodists like myself who are just doing the play-at-home version.

Of course, the Bible has precious few loopholes, and this was no exception, unfortunately. So I got up.

It lasted a day. Yes, I failed. That’s what makes us Christians, right?

So, working under the assumption that lent and baseball share a couple of rules, I kept the faith I still had 2 strikes left. I would make the red-meat-and-potatoes thing stick.

It’s been a long 44 days, but here I sit on April 18, alone in the wilderness, battered and bruised, yearning to squeeze the Heinz 57 and ketchup. But I will make it. Yes, I will make it, thanks to poultry and pork. I’ve eaten so much chicken lately I swear I think I cluck sometimes.

I know the Lord works in mysterious ways, but still I know it is a coincidence that a restaurateur friend of mine told us the other night that the price of bacon had tripled for him over the past month.

And I know it means nothing that I now have this recurring dream where I walk outside to see a chicken pecking at the brake lines on my truck.

It hasn’t been easy. No burgers. No burritos — well, chicken burritos — cluck, cluck.

See what I mean?

While I’m testifying, giving up fried potatoes has been no walk in the park, either. McDonald’s is my favorite fast-food place. And while I don’t go there much, I truly believe that a McDonald’s French fry is one of the best tastes on earth. I also like a potato chip from time to time.

In all, I think I gained a little of the appreciation I was supposed to as a Christian.

But I also gained an appreciation for how funny I now realize my Brussels sprouts joke still is. And as God is my witness, I’m going to whip it back out in 2015.