Two Blocks and a Cheeseburger

Back when I was a student at Dallas Theological Seminary, I would sometimes get stressed to the point of almost erupting. When I couldn’t stand myself any longer, I’d decide to temporarily leave my desk and my apartment. I’d take a deep breath, lace up my shoes, step into the hallway, and leave my building behind. There was something satisfying about the clank of the security gate as it fell shut behind me. I couldn’t go very far on my crutches, but I could go far enough.

During my sidewalk solace, I’d often circle the same block twice. I’d plod down Swiss Avenue toward one corner and then the next, letting my thoughts wander as I muttered to God about how tired I felt or what was going on in my heart. Some days I was silent as my feet shuffled: left, right, left, right. Though my pace was slow, I was moving forward, and gradually I’d relax.

The second time around the block was often easier than the first. Sometimes, God would speak just enough to let me know he was there: he knew, he cared, and he saw my leaking tears. I’d notice neighborhood children at play, hear voices in the nearby parking lot, and pause briefly to acknowledge life beyond myself. It wasn’t green pastures or quiet waters, but it worked. The Good Shepherd was nearby and guiding me.

Sometimes God guided me right past the first corner toward the second; if I bypassed the second corner and approached the third, I’d end up across the street from a local McDonald’s. I didn’t find a table before me in the presence of my enemies, but I did find a dollar in my pocket for a wrapped-up cheeseburger on a plastic tray. It gave me some small sanctuary in the midst of my stress. I unwrapped the paper and slowly bit into the burger with the mushy bun; I temporarily dismissed papers, printers, and practicum projects. I stared out the window and imagined myself in a different world. I watched people come and go for several minutes and smiled as some of my angst didn’t seem quite so “angsty.”

A cheeseburger can’t erase my responsibilities, but it can shift my spirit slightly. I don’t always have to be so serious if I remember that God is always sovereign. He knows every detail, every deadline, every disappointment, and every delight. Small things matter. The Lord doesn’t always promise us tomorrow that which he gives us today. God invites us to enjoy him and what he provides with each new sunrise. We give up our pride, we yield him our strength, and we rest as we need to. We move through our days the best we can. We journey one life-affirming block, one shuffling step, and one cheeseburger at a time.