The Fast (Part 2)

Wednesday 16th 

This fast is different to other shorter ones I've done in that I've had no cravings.  At least not until now when I opened the fridge and saw a favourite snack sitting on the bottom shelf.  On any other day, I'd eat it without a thought or shred of appreciation.  But now it taunts me.  "Still two more days mate" - it seems to say, "I'll see you Friday"

What makes short(ish) fasts so difficult are the cravings, not the hunger.  Craving is the evil second cousin of Hunger.  It burns with the ferocity of meth-fed kindling.  Hunger, on the other hand, is more of a smoldering, moody thing.  In a good way.  Godly hunger slowly begins to shape you.  Suddenly you see things more clearly.  You are more discerning about what you spend your energy on.  You become more contented, weaned from the petty annoyances that used to unsettle you.  Wrote David in Psalm 131:  

"O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me"

That's the problem with cravings - they cause us to live too much of our lives in the future.  There is ever before us some finish line or destination beyond which we will be permitted to have something we don't have now.  Today often looks pretty grim and lifeless in light of what's waiting at the finish line.  We crave the finish line but then, when we reach it, every pleasure and indulgence we craved becomes just another everyday thing.  Like that tub of yogurt that's taunting me from the bottom shelf of the fridge.  By Saturday morning it will be just one refrigerator item amongst many.

A few years ago my brother was trying to come to grips with his wife's life-threatening illness.  He longed for a finish line that would see her whole and healed.  He wrote:

"... it occurred to me that today is our only reality. Tomorrow is not reality. Tomorrow may never come.  Further, my perception of tomorrow is an illusion.  Tomorrow does not exist as my mind imagines it, for tomorrow will always be different to what I expect. But today is today. I live in the present moment of today, not in the past or in the future.

Even though I'm starting to suffer,  “today” is no less a precious gift.  It's something that needs to be unwrapped with joy