
I’m thinking about food
But I don’t need anything to fill my belly
It’s still savoring the toast and eggs I had for breakfast, still enjoying the warmth of that cup of coffee.
So why the thoughts?
The pull?
The urge to reach for fruit snacks?
Is it because I slept so poorly last night?
Was it the carbohydrates in that sourdough slice?
Or is it something deeper—the unsettled spirit of things I’ve yet to process:
life, suffering, the problems I cannot solve?
Is it the lingering tension from the
jabs,
ribs,
and digs spoken aloud—by others and by me?
Lord, Your word is a balm to my soul.
As I witness these struggles—the weight of life,
the heaviness of words—I see something deeper.
Your healing balm.
Your word is a lamp to my feet,a light to my path.
You remind me: follow the light
Forget the urge to suffer.
For eating when not hungry is a form of suffering.
Suffering what I wish to avoid—feelings.
But if feelings are instruments of change,
then I welcome the discomfort.
To feel is to be human,
to be alive,
to be connected to You, Lord,
and to Your movement.
Feelings call me to be on purpose,
to fulfill the calling You’ve ordained for me.
To sit with others in their moments of doubt,
to question alongside them:
What are these urges,
these cues and clues?
Are they irrelevant chatter,
or useful tools in the refining process that leads me closer to You?
To be more like Christ,
I must suffer.
You tell me to pick up my cross and follow You.
You remind me that suffering is part of the journey.
But my suffering is merely a reflection—a ripple in an endless pool.
And when I surrender to discomfort,
I step through the doorway of refinement
and into the meadow of peace my soul longs for.
I imagine myself walking freely
through fields of wildflowers,
in a body unburdened by excess—not just physical, but spiritual.
Perhaps this urge to eat
is a divine reminder—a grounding point.
Suffering leaves me weak,
and when I am weak,You are strong.
Strong in speaking to my soul.
Strong in reminding me to rely on You
for all my needs.
This morning, I ate.
My body is nourished.
Last night, though I slept fitfully,
each time I woke,
You led me to pray for others.
Their struggles, their pain—You brought them to mind.
What a gift, Lord,
to have an unsettled spirit,
for it leads me back to Your love.
Your brilliance shines through the healing,
redemption,
forgiveness,
and grace
You are writing into every story.
And so, I see this urge to eat
not as a distraction,
but as a merciful gift of grace.
A moment to pause,
to surrender,
to shift from discomfort
into Your amazing love.
I celebrate this grace—not by indulging,
but by embracing.
By walking through the urge
and discovering You on the other side.
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