The aroma from the kitchen reaches my nostrils. It’s 4:58 PM… dinnertime. The first time in the last twenty hours when I’ve noticed my hunger.
I wonder why it has taken so long… this noticing of emptiness. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. I suppose it makes this chosen fast easier, at least when calculated by the clock. But when calculated by intention, not noticing my hunger earlier stymies the purpose—fasting from something in order to take hold of something… Someone.
I know why I’m doing it. I need to notice my hunger. In doing so, I call out for relief. I call upon Him to come. To find me. Meet me. Search me and know me. This is the feeding to satisfy the soul ache within. His are the hands filled with grace. His is the love overflowing with sustenance.
When the stomach is empty, the heart is ready to receive. When the flesh is neglected, the spirit is ready to listen.
I want to be fed, not with food but with faith—a faith that’s been shaken in the last twenty-four hours. What a difference a day makes. Yesterday’s 4:58 was filled with breadsticks and baked ziti. Today’s 4:58 is filled with something greater.
My need. My hunger. My reminder to reach forward. My letting go of something in order to take hold of Someone.
Morning will surely come, and I will break my fast. But until then, I’ll mark the hours with Jesus, and I’ll notice my hunger. And I’ll remember why I need Him so very, very much.
Life will never make sense without Jesus. Maybe next time, I’ll notice my hunger sooner.
