Canned Biscuits
Canned Biscuits
Saturday morning.
Slept a little later than usual.
Woke up hungry, so I threw some sausage on the cast iron skillet.
Then I grabbed a can of biscuits.
You know the kind.
Peel the label back
and just wait.
You know it’s going to pop.
You just don’t know exactly when.
That part always gets me a little.
All that pressure sitting there the whole time.
Sealed up.
Packed in.
Just waiting.
And somewhere in the middle of that
I started thinking about how often I live the same way.
I carry more than I should.
Stuff I don’t say.
Things I don’t deal with.
Frustration that I tell myself isn’t a big deal.
I keep moving.
Keep showing up.
Look fine on the outside.
But it’s all still there.
And it builds.
It doesn’t usually take something big.
Just the wrong moment.
Wrong timing.
Wrong conversation.
And it comes out.
Not how I meant it.
Not where it should have landed.
I’ve had those moments.
Where what comes out of me
has more to do with what I’ve been carrying
than what’s right in front of me.
I’m starting to see that ignoring it
doesn’t make it smaller.
It just stores it.
And stored pressure finds a way out.
I’m trying to do a better job of letting things surface earlier.
Talking it out.
Praying without cleaning it up first.
Letting God into the parts I’d rather keep contained.
Not perfectly.
Just honestly.
Because I’ve learned something I wish I had picked up sooner.
What I keep sealed
doesn’t stay that way.
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