The Secret Power of Failure

Needless to say, my Facebook fast was a total fiasco from Day 2.... Well, actually the night of Day 1.

I cheated. I peeked at friends' walls. First I nibbled, but the wretched, weak-willed person that I am, eventually I gorged myself on cute cat and hamster videos and the scrolling river of newsfeed stories until I got so sick of myself that I wanted to vomit. 

In the morning, I felt remorseful and promised God that I’ll do better. 

He DESERVES better!

Just give me another chance.... and another...

To my credit, I mostly refrained from posting... but only to discover that I was getting green with envy for all the 'likes' everyone else was getting while I was stuck in social media wasteland, ignored and deprived.

As if the Facebook fast fiasco wasn’t humiliating enough, the following year I came back for more.

On Ash Wednesday, I solemnly promised God that for Lent I’d give up... whining!  

As they say, You don’t know you are addicted until you try quitting.

The Whining fast had the same humiliating outcome as the Facebook one.

You might think that either I am crazy or I glutton for punishment, or both, because year after year, Lent after Lent, I kept coming back for more.

I almost couldn’t stop myself.  

I almost couldn’t resist being humiliated, and battered, beaten into spiritual pulp, on my hands and knees, my sweaty, dirty face planted in the mud...

I can't even begin to explain it.

It's the weirdest thing.

Last year, my husband, who's been watching me with great curiosity fail all this time, got excited – perhaps a bit too much - when I announced that for Lent I was fasting from giving unsolicited advice.

He should have known better, knowing my track record with these fasts...