Suppose there is a woman who neglects to take the time necessary to regenerate her brain cells. And suppose she isn’t paying attention to the fact that she isn’t as young as she used to be and every brain cell is precious.
Suppose this woman is a pastor, and she gives up her days off for Lent. Not intentionally, mind you, but that’s the way it ends up. It might be her own fault, because she has a tendency to do things like waiting until Friday, her scheduled day off, to write her sermons. Just suppose this goes on, week after week. And then, suppose it’s Holy Week and she’s preparing for extra worship services and obsessing over Easter Sunday details, so she hardly stops to eat.
Suppose she pushes herself through Easter, and then has to face all the things she ignored while she was absorbed in church stuff. Suppose her house is a three-bedroom/two bath dust-bin, and she needs a machete to walk in her yard, and she's down to wearing her ratty old pjs under her clothes because all her underwear is dirty, and she doesn’t even have a clean spoon to eat her cereal in the morning. And suppose that doesn’t matter a whole lot, because she’s out of cereal.
Suppose she needs to pick up some groceries. And suppose she can’t find her purse because she didn’t put it over the door knob in the hallway the way she usually does. And suppose she finds her purse over the door handle to her bedroom closet instead, the one where she normally hangs her bras when she takes them off.
Suppose she grabs her purse and heads for the local Harris-Teeter. She proceeds to make her way up and down the aisles, filling her cart with groceries. Then, she goes to the check-out line, and as she reaches into her purse for her billfold she feels something silky brush against her hand. And suppose she sees that there is a black 36D hanging from her purse.
Do you suppose it’s time for her to take a day off?