Baxter has an eating disorder. It doesn’t strike him all the time, only on occasion. I don’t know what causes this peculiar practice, but when it happens, there is no denying it. The scenario goes like this.
Baxter is ready to eat. His stomach tells him it’s time, usually an hour ahead of schedule. If I am around, he won’t leave me alone. He cries, brushes up against me and his feeding bowl, stares to get my attention, and cries again. This routine continues in its monotonous sequence until the magic moment comes when the feeder releases another meal. Now the sickness sets in. Baxter will devour all the kibble available to him in less than ten minutes. He swallows it whole. He doesn’t come up for air until the last morsel is consumed. Then he walks away from the feeder. Now the problem arises-literally!
Baxter may sit for five or ten minutes tentatively, fidgeting a little, and then it happens. PLOP! The whole meal is there in front of him in a pile, minimally digested, and he sits there wondering how that happened. O, but it gets worse. After a few seconds, he walks away from the deposit pretending that he didn’t do it. But then, after a few minutes, he has second thoughts. His stomach feels empty again, and he doesn’t like that feeling. So, since there is a lot of chewing and digesting left in the half eaten pile, he goes back to it for a second try at a meal. This time it works. He leaves the scene full and satisfied, and while I am revolted at the thought of his consuming his own vomit, I do appreciate the minimal clean up I now have after the second go around.
Why does all this drama occur? The reason is clear and simple. Baxter eats too fast, without chewing his food the first time, driven to eliminate his uncomfortable hungry feeling as quickly as possible. If he would slow down his intake on the first feeding, once would be enough.
The same point holds for us in many regards. We sometimes rush into things because our wants and desires are driving us. We have to have what we are looking for now, or we will feel inadequate, miserable and frustrated. So we go for it all quickly without considering what the outcomes may be. We just know we want it, and our minds are set on getting it. Maybe it’s a material possession - a new car, dress, house or gadget. Maybe it’s a new position at work. Maybe it’s a person - that guy or gal we have admired and with whom we want a relationship. Maybe it’s even our faith—we want to believe more deeply, spend more time in prayer, stop our regular sins. So we go for it in one big mouth full. We try to gulp it all down without chewing on the meaning and purpose our desire may or may not have for our lives. We don’t consider the consequences of our reckless actions to satisfy our drives, and may find ourselves losing everything we sought in the end.
Lent is a time to slow ourselves down and chew on the things that matter to us. We fast not to starve but to savor the taste of those persons and practices that nourish our lives. Lent reminds us that there is plenty of what we need to be whole and happy persons, if we take the fruits of life in slowly, carefully and deliberately, sharing them with others along the way. We don’t need to see others as a threat to what we want, but as partners who can multiply the joy when we get what we are looking for together. That may not be the same food for thought and spirit, but it will nourish each of us as we need to be fed, and thus create strong bonds between strong individuals. Sometimes wanting the same thing is wanting the wrong thing for ourselves. Our differences can become the cement that binds our lives together, if we help each other work to develop them unselfishly and cooperatively. We all may not like the same food, but there is plenty of food for all of us to like. Let’s help each other find what we like.
"So, Baxter, there’s no need for you to gobble your dinner. I won’t eat it. Take the time to chew it, taste it, enjoy it. There’s more for the next time." Sound advice for cats-and for humans.
