If I was a smoker, I would have reached for a pack of cigarettes.

If I was a drinker, there would have probably been a few empty bottles.

I was an emotional eater, and it was an Oreo milkshake at the end of my narrow, tunneled vision that day.

The overwhelm of motherhood had gotten the best of me as I buckled my three children in the car. I drove to Chick-fil-A, with high hopes of finding reprieve in some cream through a straw.

I secured my spot in the drive-thru line and placed my order to the voice through the microphoned monitor.

Thankfully, the line wasn’t long, my children were content, but I felt I couldn’t get that milkshake fast enough.

When I pulled up to the window, a young lady smiled with pleasure as she handed me my large drink with a cherry on top.

As I reached for the milkshake with one hand and extended a few dollars towards her with the other, she said:

“No worries, ma’am. The car ahead of you already paid for it.”

My jaw dropped with an exhaled breath of surprise. “Are you serious?!”

“Yes ma’am. Have a good day!”

All I could muster up was a bewildered, “Wow. Thank you”, as I pulled forward, trying to balance my drink and roll up my window.

I was shocked.

And then I began to sob.

You see – as strange as it sounds – Oreo ice cream had become a sign in my life that everything was not okay.

It started back in 7th grade . . . “An Oreo blizzard every other day” was prescribed by our family doctor when my middle school metabolism and my middle school activity level made it hard for my body to keep up.

Later, after gaining some necessary weight, Oreo ice cream became a “go to” for me. Dairy Queen, Sonic, Blue Bell, Breyers, or a homemade mixture with pudding and cool whip, you name it – this dessert was like a little “emotional retreat”.

Instead of coming to Jesus for comfort when I was upset, or peace when I was stressed, or rest when I was overwhelmed, or joy when I was lonely . . . far too often I would head towards this feeble alternative; sometimes publicly, sometimes in private, and always short-lived.

Though Jesus still felt near, I ashamedly admit I would choose this empty, fleeting food far too many times over the sturdy arms of my Faithful Father.

It sounds so irrational, doesn’t it?

Isn’t all sin irrational?

But, sadly, that’s where I would run.

We all run somewhere.

And here I was, pulling away from the drive thru – in a moment of such weakness – and I heard God’s strong but gentle voice clearly speak to my heart,

“You chose to run to this instead of to Me, but I chose to run after you. No matter what you do, you can never run away from My love, My presence, nor My provision for you.”

I held in my hand a literal symbol of my betrayal . . . and God met me there with a blessing. In essence, He had bought the very thing I was choosing over Him.

In that mind-boggling moment, God was proving to my stubborn heart that He is better, kinder, infinitely more satisfying than any other place I would try to run to for reprieve.

I still drank that thing, but with an entirely different mindset. In between sips and sobs, I was truly, deep down to my toes convinced that Christ is eternally sweeter than any fleeting taste on my tongue.

This was the first time I drank a milkshake from a heart of worshipping GOD.

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In my husband’s sermon just yesterday, David mentioned Peter’s denial of Jesus, as well as Jesus’ restoration of Peter –

how Peter rejected Jesus over a charcoal fire and how Jesus received him over the same.

The smell of charcoal was a scent of betrayal for Peter, but Jesus chose to restore him – to bless him – over the same smell that had been one of Peter’s deep shame.

That was me in the drive-thru line –

staring at what had been a source of shame for me for so long was now the very thing that made me savor the sweetness of Jesus, perhaps in a way like never before.

This is the transforming power of our Savior who came to meet us in our mess and to redeem everything He finds there.

And though the ruts of our far-too-often traveled routes can run deep, our compassionate Father can miraculously smooth the ground of our worn walkways and reroute our steps.

He offers us a different way, a better way. HE is The Way.

God met me with an unexpected roadblock of His tender, lovingkindness that day, and my route changed.

Now, by God’s sufficient grace, only to Jesus.

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“You have made know to me the path of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

Psalm 16:11