Americans and Canadians are now leaving Mexico and heading home for the summer, and with a goal of ending up with no food in our condos, “Refrigerator Clean-Out” parties abound. So, we all congregate in the condominium of the ones leaving, pick what kinds of cheese or meats or canned goods we might use, thank our generous friends, and then, a few days later, have our own departing exodus get-together, many times giving away what we took from those who left before us.

We prepare our condominiums until we return (hopefully) in the fall. Darkened shades protect the furniture from the sun’s damage, fans help with air circulation, underwear is placed in the refrigerator (Not kidding; it saves the elastic), cars are garaged with trickle-charge batteries attached, and we pray for the best. “Best” meaning no hurricane or tsunami or earthquake or saltwater damage.

Yesterday, making up for lost time, I had a massage.

For years I have heard raves about Corina, the gal who comes to our complex and is a master at relieving tension. She is not for wimps. Corina started off gently, rubbing my shoulder blades before pressing some area above my hip that shot me into orbit. Hers was a two-hand approach, one kneading my left shoulder area near my spine and the other on that hip spot. Mine was a “try not to whimper” approach. Occasionally Corina would find some body part not filled with marbles, but that was rare, and trust me, holding my breath instead of squeezing her tonsils as a reflexive response was exhausting. Following our time together, I spent an hour trying to figure out how my kidneys ended up above my lungs.

Corina’s hands were weapons, a gift from God to torture those of us willing to hand over 500 pesos ($25.00) to be woman-handled.

Yesterday, the day before Dave and I left Mazatlán, I took my friend Saundra’s advice and made an appointment with Diana, the lady across the street who gives facials. My face, it seems, required about 16 steps to repair its damage, the fifth of which was preempted with these words. “This might make you feel like your face is on fire, but it’s necessary because of the sun’s harm to your skin.” At that point, Diana threw kerosene on my face and lit it with a blow torch. By the 10^th step when she “exfoliated” the dirt lurking in the skin of my nose, I was sure I would be faceless for the rest of my life.

Driving across the mountains of Mexico today was a piece of tres-leches cake compared to the pain endured on body parts I had ignored for far too long but had spent hours of the two previous days repairing. Experts were able to see problems under the surface of my skin that I had no idea were there. Instead of a maintenance program, I had allowed things to get out of hand…or back…or face…or wherever. And I paid a price for ignoring what I needed to do.

Don’t we all do that with our spiritual lives? We go through the motions of daily happenings and ignore the warning signs of what our faith requires until jolted awake by our expert Creator, the One who sees danger below the surface. We are shocked by the damage done when our sins get out of control and question why we did not do a maintenance check on our spiritual life.

When did I stop talking to Jesus throughout the day? How did it become so easy not to attend church? What happened to my New Years’ oath that I would study my Bible on a regular basis? If those questions represent you, perhaps it is time for some spiritual kneading or burning or exfoliating…you know, a maintenance program none of us can fail to ignore.