Your words are so choice, so tasty; I prefer them to the best home cooking. – PSALM ‭119‬:‭103

Tomorrow my family and I will pack up and head home after a few days of camping along the California coastline. The views have been spectacular. The memories, permanent. The food: weird.

We eat weird stuff by the campfire. We determine that, in the spirit of the “great outdoors,” we ought to only eat foods that can be skewered with a clothes hanger. Food groups and nutritional considerations have new categories. Hot dog: healthy. Eat it before you eat a marshmallow. Some variation on the classic “trail mix” (granola, peanuts, chocolate chips, M&M’s, cereal) constitutes a reasonable snack between meals. Camping, it turns out, is a world where Gatorade has supplanted water as essential for life. It is dreamland for my kids. All hygiene and dietary guidelines governing an otherwise civilized society are completely abandoned.

But, I feel it.

I’m not sure how many marshmallows I can eat before I go into some kind of sugar-induced anaphylaxis. My frequent headaches and jittery-ness has got me convinced that the threshold is close. But, it’s camping. I’ve chosen this for myself. Truthfully, I  love it. But, I can’t sustain it.

It’s time for things that can be eaten with a fork. It’s time for things that aren’t vacuum sealed. It’s time to start eating things that don’t require an open flame to prepare them. I am in need of some, as the verse says, “home cooking.”

In the wanderings of my soul, the principle is no different. The interior longings of my heart can last for a while on sweet indulgences, golden-charred at fireside. But, eventually, I’ll return to what I really need: the long sustaining fullness of God.

See you Sunday,
– Jeff