I can pack a seriously freaking good lunch.  If you and I have a picnic date, or a pack-your-own-lunch-today plan, you’ll want me to pack one for you.  I’m so good at it.  My packed lunches are highly favored.  You won’t even miss going out for lunch instead, because I will have packed you so much goodness.

It’s true.  I speak in humble truth.

The key is in variety of flavors and options.  Tucking in little surprises, those that have been hidden in the corner of the pantry.  Surprises that say, hey, you get the pleasure of this today.  Because I know you and you’re worth it.

I packed one of these for myself today.  Four different containers, a bottled water, sweet options, salty alternatives, and even a dessert or two.  I have much writing to do – the kind that should happen at the library, not at Starbucks, just to remind myself by the severe environment that my words and my time and my productivity matter today.   These are the deadlines I’m dealing with, people.

I stopped at McDonald’s to get a large diet Coke.  (Writing is all about the beverages.  And, for me, the lipstick.)  The drive-thru line was a little long and excessive, so I parked and went inside.

All I wanted was a diet Coke.  $1.06.

But there they were, all with their signs up about the McRib sandwich, here for a limited time.  Get them while they last.  Don’t miss your chance.

I do love a good McRib.  Forgive me if you feel like that’s an oxymoron.  And don’t bother to tell me.  Because I can’t be swayed on this matter.

Before I knew it, seemingly apart from my own will and certainly apart from my knowledge of the favored packed lunch, I had a tray in my hands.  A complete value meal.  I’m pretty sure I even upsized the fries.

And then I got caught up watching all this hullabaloo about Lance Armstrong and whether he did or did not take performance-enhancing drugs and whether he was or was not honest about it.

I don’t watch the news.  I don’t follow cyclists.  (Perhaps one might say I was hungry for the distraction of both.)  There I sat, dipping my fries in ketchup and reading the subtitles on the muted television in the McDonald’s dining room.  (Actually, that is an oxymoron, as long as we’re identifying them.)

This is how people lose time, put on pounds, and miss deadlines, all without an explicable earthly understanding of how it happened.

Lean into your giftings, Tricia.  Go through the drive thru, pack your own blessed lunch, and then freaking eat what you gave yourself.

For crying out loud.

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