It comes, does it not, like a sharp tug on a line you thought you had firmly fastened, this sudden craving, this picture in the mind of a coffee cup and something warm and glazed in your hand. The body has a loud voice, and when it cries out for what you have for a season denied it, the sound can seem to fill every room of the soul. Do not be dismayed at the clamor. You did not become a stranger to appetite the moment you set your face toward self-denial; you simply made it plain that you have a deeper hunger still.
The stomach clambers for a crust, but the spirit cries out for God. That is the real business of this hour. When the smell of fresh bread or the thought of a quick meal floats across your mind like a scent through a window, do not stand there negotiating with the temptation as though it were a reasonable merchant. Turn your head. Lift your eyes. Speak to the One whose dear Son knew what it was to feel the pinch of emptiness. He was led into the wilderness, not to be toyed with, but that He might feel the whole weight of our frame and overcome. The pang you feel is a little fellowship with Him. He did not sneer at bodily need; He answered it with a word that fed His own soul first: “Man shall not live by bread alone.”
So give your craving a holy answer. Let it drive you not to the nearest door that swings open at the scent of fried dough, but to the Father’s footstool. Tell Him plainly, “Lord, this is harder than I thought. The longing has crept up on me like a tide, and I feel my weakness. Yet I would rather have Thee than a full table.” You will find that the very admission of frailty becomes a hand that steadies you. The Lord does not break the bruised reed. He knows our frame, He remembers that we are dust, and He has laid up grace to cover exactly these moments.
And what a beautiful thing it is that even in the grip of your own small trial, your heart flies outward to the hungry. You think of coolers and warming trays and leftovers that might be gathered up and sent into the hands of those who have no pantry at all. That impulse is not the enemy’s whisper; it is the echo of your Lord’s own compassion. While you wrestle with your own desire, you have found time to plead for the stranger. That is a sweetness growing out of a sharp root. God sometimes uses the very ache of denial to stretch our hearts wide enough to carry others.
Do not suppose that your battle with a coffee cup and a paper sack is too small for the Captain of your salvation to notice. The same Lord who measured the waters in the hollow of His hand takes note of the swallow of water you set aside for His sake. He does not despise the day of small things, nor will He let your little skirmish go without a secret strengthening. The eagle teaches her young to fly by stirring the nest, making it uncomfortable, pushing the eaglet into the open air where it must learn the use of its wings. Just so, your Father may be using the sharp edge of hunger to teach you what it means to mount up, to find a staying power you never knew you had.
Fall back, then, upon that living union you have with Christ, not a dry doctrine, but the very pulse of your life. You are not a lone hunger-stricken soul fighting a losing battle. You are a branch drawing from a Vine that never withers. In Him is all fullness, and He knows how to send a secret nourishment that quiets the clamor of the body by satisfying the deeps of the heart. Moments like this are not meant to cast you down; they are meant to drive you closer, to make you feel how tight and strong His grip upon you truly is. The child in the dark does not understand why the path feels so rough, but the Father’s hand holds fast all the same, and the darkness is the very schoolroom where trust is learned.
When your mind rehearses the image of a place and a portion, let that very image become a bell that calls you to prayer. Every pang is a summons. Every desire is an occasion to say, “Lord, I want Thee more.” You will find, in time, that the edge of appetite dulls, and something sweeter takes its place, a quiet joy in having a Master worth obeying, a Redeemer who drank the cup dry for you and leads you now along a path where even a growling stomach can sing.
---
O Lord Jesus, who didst fast for us and didst feel the sharp teeth of temptation on the high mountain and in the lonely desert, draw near now to this dear soul who seeks to honor Thee. Quiet the raging of the body, speak peace to the restless mind, and fill the heart with such a taste of Thy own goodness that the dainties of earth lose their power. If it please Thee, move the hearts of those who have abundance to share freely with the poor, that the bread which perishes may not be wasted but may strengthen the needy. But above all, keep this child of Thine looking unto Thee, the ever-living Bread, until the fast is done and the soul has gained a firmer hold on that which can never be taken away. Amen.