Holy Reservation

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from Chick-Fil-A about a new "Spicy Chicken Sandwich" and how you needed to print out the email to reserve one of these delectable delights for your very own.

I didn't think much about it. After all, I've sort of had my fill of Chick-Fil-A because of the recent spirit nights, random drive through runs with my roommate Megan, and having to pick up a fireplace (long Story)

So needless to say, I didn't reserve my Spicy Chicken Sandwich, despite my love for those Cows with poor grammar and my affinity for all things spicy.

So today, I was supposed to get off of work early. I didn't, at least, not as early as I would have liked. I left early enough, however, to be able to drive ALL THE WAY OUT WEST to the mall where I had hosted one of my spirit nights two weeks ago. I rarely have ANY extra time nowadays, with all the working and fundraising and socializing I've been putting into my schedule.

Lately, I've decided that while I'm in the car, I'm going to either leave the radio off, or listen to music that I find "worshipful" or "uplifting." Today was a no music day. I try to "Pray" when the music is off, because I've found with all my extra "socializing", that I seem to have a TON of new friends, all with their own problems, issues, and what not.

How many people have I told that I would pray for them? How many of those prayers go unsaid because I forget? Feeling very convicted, I prayed all the way to Chick-Fil-A, (which is a 30 minute drive both ways) and realized that most of my prayers go something like this:

"Lord please be with So and so's uncle who is still in rehab. Please be with my Godson Lider, and all of the other boys in the orphanage. Remember my friend, who is struggling to understand what it means to have faith in you. . ."

And the list goes on. I never really know what God thinks of those two second prayers. I mean, what else am I supposed to say to Him that He doesn't ALREADY know?

As I arrive at Chick-Fil-A, I go up to the counter, expecting it to be busy because today is the day where all those people who DID reserve their "Spicy Chicken Sandwich" finally get to tantalize their taste buds. Surprisingly, there wasn't much of a crowd. So I wait in line patiently, and lo and behold, one of the kids (Katie) who I work with in youth group appears from behind the counter.

Katie, and her twin sister Hannah, work at this Chick-Fil-A part time. "Have you tried the new chicken spicy chicken sandwich?" Katie asks.

"No," I reply.

"Well it's gross. It's really spicy. Remember how they had that 'Spiciest Hot Sauce on the Planet' stuff at youth group a couple of weeks ago? And how all the boys that tried it were crying and throwing up? That's how spicy it is."

That comment makes me smile. Katie has a tendency to exaggerate. "I doubt it's that spicy," I say. However, I'm fully intrigued, because I really want to know how spicy it really is, however I watch as another customer tries to order the sandwich, and the Chick-Fil-A associate politely tells her that "We're not actually SELLING it yet. We only have enough for the people who 'RESERVED' one. Seeing as how my stomach was still full from a four seasons lunch, I wasn't all that interested anyway.

"I'm sure I'll try it in the future," I wonder aloud to Katie, who is walking up to her sister and her mom, who's there to pick them up from work.

Turns out, her mom was chatting with the Marketing Director, Angela, whom I've only spoken with on the phone. Angela was the nice woman who set up my Spirit night, so it was actually nice to put a name to a face.

We chatted for awhile, about things I certainly can't remember, though I do recall telling her about how amazing my life is. "I get to paint, play with children, and do missions. My life is fantastic." As we're talking, up walks Angela's husband, (to my shame I can't remember his name.. I think I'll call him Ray) who is holding his very own Spicy Chicken Sandwich.

After introductions, Angela quickly switches topics: "Oh Kirsten! Have you tried our new Spicy Chicken Sandwich??"

Are you kidding? "No, I haven't actually. I didn't reserve one. . ." I kind of mumble, chuckling to myself. I'm slowly convincing myself that all the hype around this sandwich is going to cause it to fall flat on its face.

"You have to try one!" she continues. "Go up to the counter and just ask for one! Or better yet, HERE. . ." she says as she takes the sandwich out of her husband's hands and thrusts it into mine.

I try to refuse. "Well, actually, I don't want to take his sandwich," (to which she answers, "He'll get another!") and "But I just ate. . ." and that's the truth. "Besides, I just started a diet with my roommates and I know they'll be upset if I sneak a sandwich. . . ."

At that point, I think I had given up and reluctantly took the sandwich I didn't really want. Simply because of the calories, and I knew I wouldn't be able to resist eating it. . . it just smelled so good.

After a few more kind words, I tote the warm sandwich, fresh in wrapper and place it next to the OTHER leftovers I had from lunch at the hotel (where I work.)

I begin driving home, and I resume my prayers. "Dear Lord, please remember my brothers. . . oh I don't even know what to say anymore." And I start over with all of the people I had promised to pray for.

Then something happened. I got really tired of praying for people. There are just so many! I began to get a little frustrated. . . my prayers became more desperate. "God, how can I possibly remember to pray for all of these people? I don't understand how I'm supposed to keep up. . . I don't understand how YOU can keep up!"

I think, what happened, is that somewhere along the highway lines I started praying for real. God began to show me my weaknesses, and began to reveal a fraction of the Love that He has for others. Somehow, he keeps us all in His hands, our lives, the lives of the people in the cars next to us. I begin to think about the severity of my sin, and I begin to thank God for choosing someone like me. I am so surrounded by His love. He gave me a freaking Spicy Chicken Sandwich. God cares enough about me to bless me with little notes of affection, things I enjoy, because He somehow finds joy in ME.

Who am I to stand in that knowledge? Who am I to stand in His stead, and preach His suffering and His salvation? Do I have the courage to take up that suffering? Do I REALLY want what I SAY I want?

And then a stark reality hit me. One of my newest and dearest friends and I had a conversation a couple of nights ago about JUST HOW SERIOUS the bible should be taken. If it REALLY is the Word of God, then SHOULDN'T we be doing what it says?? Why AREN'T we praying for the sick and then they are miraculously healed? Why AREN'T we loving our neighbor as ourselves? Why AREN'T we casting out demons?

I didn't really have an answer for her then. I think I might now. Because she's right. Why aren't we taking this Gospel, this Good news, as SERIOUS as it should be taken? We have the answer to LIFE, not just in the reality of hell, but LIFE MORE ABUNDANTLY, HERE on earth! There is a better way! Why aren't we taking hold of that and PREACHING it like there is no tomorrow? Because for some of us, there really IS NO tomorrow??

Tears began to stream from my eyes as my prayers turned into, "Dear Jesus, I love you. Please, I WANT this to be real, I don't want this to be something I just talk about. I want to know you better, I want to fast, I want to read my bible. I want to love others as YOU have loved them!! Please, make this real!"

My answer didn't come audibly, for once. Rather, it came in the form of a man on the side of the road. He had a bright yellow shirt, and was sitting on a five gallon bucket with a HUGE white sign that simply said: HUNGRY

I instantly pulled over (after a few u-turns, as I had seen him after I had already driven past) and I opened my window. Trying to keep my composure, I asked him: "How hungry are you?"

"What?" he replied.

I picked up my leftovers first to show him, and he rushed over to my car. Then I looked down at my warm, Spicy Chicken Sandwich. "What is your name?" I asked him.

"Pablo."

"Do you like spicy food, Pablo?"

"Yeah!"

"Well I have one of these new Spicy Chicken Sandwiches from Chick-Fil-A. Would you like that?"

"Yes! God bless you!"

"Do you want this too?" I held up my turkey wrap (which looks really healthy)

"Uh, no. You can keep that."

"God Bless you, Pablo."

He waved, and I was off.

My prayers turned into: "Dear Lord, please be with Pablo. Let him. . . oh I don't know. I don't know what he needs. But You do."

I didn't ever make a reservation for one of those stupid sandwiches. But apparently, Pablo had. I just didn't know it. I continued on to home, asking God to forgive a wretched soul like me, and thanking Him for doing so. I love God. To love someone is to obey them when they ask something of you. Why shouldn't I give the world up? It's so small compared to what I have already been given.