Sometimes comfort is convenience.
It’s not artisanal.
It’s not grass-fed, hand-wrapped, or ethically blessed by monks.
It’s a lukewarm ham and cheese triangle from a fridge that hums like it knows your secrets.
And yet—
somehow, at 2:47PM on a day when everything has gone sideways,
that sandwich becomes communion.
Because grace doesn’t always show up as a sunrise over the ocean.
Sometimes it’s a plastic-wrapped carb bomb eaten in a car with the air con blasting.
Not all comfort needs to be complicated.
Sometimes survival looks like the easiest option.
And that’s okay.
You don’t need to prove anything to deserve relief.
Just eat.
Rest.
Breathe.
Even if it came from aisle three and cost $5.50.
—
Amen and lightly toasted.
#NotHoly #ConfessionsOfTheSpirituallyUnderqualified #GospelOfConvenience #MiniConfessions