“Hi. My name is Rita, and I’m a Pepsi-oholic.”

The petite pastor’s wife and about half of the small congregation responded.

“Hi Rita.”

Evidently, they’d been to a meeting, or watched one on television.

There was something cleansing about openly acknowledging my addiction before an audience of persons who smiled and nodded with understanding. My husband knew I was an addict, but it was mid-November 2014, and he had yet to notice my last taste of Pepsi was on October 28, 2014.

Before I share with you what I shared in that church, allow me to make it absolutely clear. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with Pepsi, or any other Pepsi Cola product. I could have become addicted to anything or any brand. My problem was not with the sweet, fizzy, caffeinated, cola. It was a matter of obedience.

When I was a child, I obeyed my parents and a multitude of other authorities, or suffered the consequences. Now that I’m an adult, add some nuance to the concept, and it’s called submission, but it remains a matter of obedience. I have more options as an adult, but it’s still a matter of choosing what God says is best (obedience), or suffering consequences.

I’d known for years that I drank too much of the stuff. The empty calories caused me to gain weight, and the work of filtering ingredients and flushing them out of my body was placing additional burden on my kidneys, one of them already compromised. It wasn’t the Pepsi that made me ill, but it wasn’t helping either.

My husband wanted me to cut back. My doctors told me to avoid it. The nurse in me (I’m an RN) said, “Drink water instead.” Even God was nudging me, asking me why I allowed Pepsi so much space – not just in my shopping cart, but in my daily life. As I continued to enjoy the rush of something with that first gulp that only another addict can understand, I told myself that “lots of people live with only one kidney. I could be addicted to something much worse.”

Nothing seemed to prompt the thought. I was driving down the road, listening to my favorite radio station. I couldn’t tell you what the song was, but the Moody station always plays music between Ravi Zacharias and Chris Fabry. My last discernible thought was how amused I am when Chris spells out F-a-b-r-y for his audience. I get that he wants listeners to call in or find him online, and there is more than one way to misspell his last name.

Ravi, on the other hand, might consider spelling out his name. I searched online for Robbie Zacharias with lots of “results,” but not the result I wanted. I learned how to spell his name only after a friend loaned me one of his books, and I recognized his story. (Disclaimer: This and the previous paragraph will be the first to be cut if/when this post exceeds its word limit. Other than playing music that encouraged my spirit to rest in the middle of a hectic day, Moody Radio is in no way responsible for what is expressed in this post, and no financial arrangement or obligation exists between myself and Moody Radio.)

Forty days of any behavior makes it a habit. I don’t know if I had heard it or read it, but it wasn’t an original thought. I don’t even know if it’s true, so don’t quote me, but the thought came to hijack my attention from the fast food and large Pepsi that was calling from only a few blocks away.

In that moment, I committed myself to forty days without Pepsi. Noah and his family lived, worked, and survived forty days of torrential rain, then waited for dry land. That was in the age of the ark. No video technology and no Moody Radio. I could surely do forty days without Pepsi. Jesus endured forty days fasting in the wilderness to be tempted by Satan. Did I need a better example?

There is nothing mandatory or magical about the number forty, but as not so random thoughts of Pepsi, obedience, Noah, rain, Jesus, Satan, temptation, and forty days blended with the worship music on the radio, I felt challenged to go forty days without Pepsi.

It was one on those sunny, warm October days in Illinois when I can be extra grateful for my life in the Midwest. I opened the sunroof, and turned up the radio, but my heart and brain were having such a great time in fellowship I could barely hear the music. God was in on this.

No Pepsi for forty days. It was settled. Amen. I offered thanks to God for caring about me and my silly addiction when important world changing events were happening all over the world, even in central Illinois.

I felt, with one deep breath, a familiar, but infrequent feeling of contentment that only washes over me after finally submitting a big deal or a little detail over to God for management. The warm October sun helped.

I wanted to close my eyes, but I was still driving. My tummy growled. No more stop lights between me and lunch. Without moving my lips, “God, are there other things and places where I haven’t been obedient to you? Is there another area of my life that could use thirty – sorry God. I heard you right — forty days of submission?”

I’m amazed by how God can dialogue and settle issues in moments when it takes pages for me to record a brief encounter. If God doesn’t occasionally speak to you that way, it’s not because He isn’t trying.

High school kids were standing on a sidewalk, holding signs. I didn’t notice their school uniforms at first glance, but I read their signs as I drove by, and wondered why they weren’t in school. I had no idea there was an abortion clinic between my place of work and my favorite fast food restaurant.

I wished I had honked to show support. Maybe on my way back – after I drive-thru. How would they be able to discern if my honk was supportive and not communicating, “Get back to school you juvenile delinquents!” Maybe I should forget the honk. A big smile and a wave would be better.

What was I thinking? Another woman, or maybe a young girl, had made a world changing choice and would live with the consequences. Was that her car in the parking lot? Would she be driving home alone?

I would always remember October 28, 2014 as the day I submitted to the tender and loving God who has my best interest at heart. What would she remember about this day? Was she cognizant of who or what she had submitted to?

“That will be $7.03. Please pull around to the window.”

“Could I also have ten $5.00 gift cards?”

The words went into the menu sign/microphone from my mouth, almost without my permission.

“Sure. Pull on around.”

I opened my wallet and saw only one twenty dollar bill. There were some coins in the cup holder.

“That will be $57.03.”

It only took an instant for me to ask the Lord why he would want me to order gift cards when Christmas was still weeks in the future, and He had to know I didn’t have enough cash.

“Lord, I hope you know this can’t happen every day for 40 days, but for today, Lord, I will obey.”

 I pulled out my debit card.

Ordinarily, I would dig into the bag and start eating in the car. Not this time. My tummy was strangely patient. Before I pulled out of the fast food parking lot, I knew what I was supposed to do with the gift cards.

Ten teenagers and one adult chaperone were still on the sidewalk, holding signs. They looked my way, but didn’t stare as I parked in the abortion “clinic” parking lot. By the way, as a nurse, I find it offensive that this business can hide behind words like clinic, treatment, prevention, and care.

The adult in the group stepped out, making sure I realized her presence, but it was a boy at the end of the line, and closest to me, as I jogged up a slight hill, car keys and gift cards in hand.

“Please take these. I saw you as I drove by and wanted to do something to let you know I appreciate what you are doing, and your willingness to do it.”

He looked at me in disbelief. When he didn’t hold out his hand to accept the gift cards, I reached out and dropped the cards into his shirt pocket in what could have easily been considered an invasion of his personal space. The other kids and the chaperone didn’t miss a thing.

I turned and jogged back down the hill.

As I started my car, I noticed the group was in a loose huddle. Negative thoughts began to take over my mood before I had the car in gear:

• You didn’t mention the name of Jesus. What you did was for nothing.
• Those kids think you’re crazy.
• Five dollars? That won’t buy much.
• Throwing money away won’t bring back one baby or comfort one of those mothers.
• Those kids were wearing uniforms. They don’t need your gift cards.
• Their parents can afford private school.
• Hey church lady! Those kids don’t belong to your kind of church. That money could have gone to the kids you know.
• So what if it is Columbus day – a school holiday. They’re probably looking for extra credit in religion class.

Satan can dialogue in our heads and work quickly on our moods and self-worth as a child of God if we let him. I turned up the radio, and told him to leave me alone. If he continued to nag me, I didn’t hear. There was smiling, waving, and yelling coming from the sidewalk:

“Thank you!”

“We love you!”

“Have a great day!”

That was one year ago on October 28^th. My forty days without Pepsi turned to sixty. I made it through the holidays, and through the hot days of summer. Pepsi wasn’t the only thing that had a hold on me, but it was the thing I thought I needed daily. It was the thing I used for soothing, energy, and reward.

I didn’t need it! I don’t need it! But I still find myself hesitating in front of vending machines and when looking over menus.

In last Friday’s post, I invited you to come back today and celebrate an anniversary. I hope you weren’t expecting cake or a party. I won’t be serving Pepsi – that’s for sure! Instead, I’m serving up a challenge.

Let’s take another look at Matthew 25:34-46. Remember how Jesus contrasted those who feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, take in strangers, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and see to the needs of prisoners, with those who do none of those things?

If you’re already involved in a ministry that serves the hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, or imprisoned, I hope you’ll ask God to give you a fresh inspiration for doing it better. If you are not serving in a ministry, pray about who and how you can serve. I’m praying, confident that God has a new challenge for me. Will you pray too?

Lord, direct me to the hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, and imprisoned. They are everywhere – literally and figuratively, but I don’t often notice. Show me where and how I can serve. It scares me a little – this submission thing. Not that You might take me where I prefer not to go, but that I am likely to fail. Forty days, months, or years it doesn’t matter. I want to submit to you ­­– the God who cares enough to help me with my big choices and my ridiculous addictions. Amen.