HUNGRY!

This post will be, in a way, a new twist on this older post.

This is a photo of my bagel with berry spread (atop 70s plate), a second helping of my snack this evening. I usually don't snack this epically at night, but I felt like I needed to. I ate a very early dinner, probably around 4:45 p.m., and it's OK for a woman with PMS to have the epic munchies.

If you're a male who's reading this, no worries, PMS really is as scary as it sounds. Honestly, I really don't think we women understand it, either. For a few days a month, we become phenomenally moody monsters with absurdly huge appetites, and chocolate mysteriously makes our symptoms disappear for a while. Seriously, I don't get it. I just go with the mysteriously hormonal flow.

But you don't have to have PMS to have the epic munchies.

I've heard that males can also get cranky when they're hungry. I've heard that they have higher metabolism than we women have, in general, and that their wives like to be diligent to serve their meals on time so as to keep peace in the household.

But I really don't think hunger is just a gender thing. I think regardless of gender, hunger is a deep ache that must be satisfied if human life is going to continue at all.

Maybe that All-Bran I've been eating for breakfast at 6 a.m. hasn't been sticking to my ribs before I start my 9:30 a.m. job, or maybe it's the PMS, or maybe it's the hourlong commute, or maybe it's all of the above... I don't know what it is exactly, but I've gotten epically hungry lately right before I've begun my work shift. I know from experience that those dainty little fat-free snacks I have at my desk won't last me until lunch. And I know that the snack-vending situation at my job won't be helpful at all. (Sorry, but if your credit card machine isn't working, that means you don't want my business. (Especially if you charge $10 for a bag of beef jerky.)) So, I've stopped at McDonald's a couple of times for a second breakfast right before work. I'm not a hobbit, but I know from experience that I can't work on an empty stomach. I'll be very distracted in trying to find something, anything, to satisfy my hunger. And, not to mention, I'll be cranky and watch the clock like a hawk to see if it's lunchtime yet.

(As a side note, I've noticed that when I'm fasting, all of the hunger rules are completely different. I don't think I've ever keeled over from lack of food during a fast. I don't think God would ever be like, "Hey, I want you to eat only salads for two weeks" and then laugh maniacally when I pass out. He isn't cruel. I think He gives a special grace to abstain from certain foods, etc., during a fast.)

When I'm hungry, I'm barely able to function at all, and life pretty much stops until I can find something substantial to consume. If my hunger isn't satisfied deeply and properly, I'll be miserable.

In recent years, I've had major hunger pangs late at night. These episodes have only happened about three or four times, but they concerned me because I would feel a very sharp pain in my back that would go away after I would eat something and then take ibuprofen. When I would wake up the next morning, I would be fine. According to an internet search, this was only a hunger pain, but I should probably get a checkup sometime eventually just in case it's something else. (As a result, I try to not go to bed hungry.)

These episodes were scary. The last one was especially painful. I'm glad God has an impeccably good bedside manner. But I also wonder if the psalmists experienced something similar.

"My back is filled with searing pain; there is no health in my body." (Psalm 38:7, NIV)

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled." (Matthew 5:6)

Speaking of health issues, I recently discovered that my cat Choochie has an overactive thyroid. This is definitely a concern, and I definitely will seek treatment for her soon. But it was good to have this diagnosis, because knowing about her thyroid helps me understand why she was having such crazy symptoms, some of which I accepted to be normal for her. I thought maybe her fingernails were supposed to be thick. I thought maybe she was supposed to vomit multiple times before she would finally hawk up a hairball. I thought maybe she was just supposed to be petite. I thought maybe she just chews on the doorstops to get my attention until I feed her because her metabolism is supposed to be jacked up so high. But maybe all that stuff isn't supposed to be normal. (And maybe she isn't even supposed to be belching as much as she does. When she was a kitten, I thought her pungent flatulence was endearing.)

But Choochie gets ravenously hungry. She gets the epic munchies. And she's not ashamed to find me and tell me about her need.

I understand the metaphor that God's word (His spoken word and the Bible) is supposed to be our spiritual food. I understand that if I don't let God feed me directly from Himself, I'll die. And I understand that each one of us is born with what many people call a "God-shaped hole." In other words, I understand that we have needs that only God can satisfy. If we don't have God in our lives, we're spiritually dead. If Jesus doesn't live inside us, we're goners for all of eternity.

But the term "God-shaped hole" has become too cheesy for me. That's it? We only have one hole, and God is supposed to fit neatly inside of it like a factory-sawn puzzle piece?

Physically, when I'm racked with genuine hunger, my body doesn't just have a breakfast-shaped hole that only a Sausage McMuffin With Egg can fill. The cashier at the drive-thru doesn't tell me to turn to #94 in my breakfast hymnal for a cozy little altar call. No, I'm tearing down the highway, weaving between cars, trying to beat the clock, knowing that if I don't successfully make it to the drive-thru and order my Sausage McMuffin With Egg, a catastrophic sequence of events will occur: I will spend a large part of my morning seeking an acceptable substitute for a snack while meeting disappointment at every turn, I will eat an absurdly early lunch around 10:55 a.m., I will be ravenously hungry all over again and will spend another large part of my afternoon seeking a preferably-under-$10 snack while meeting another heap of disappointment, I will be absurdly and hopelessly hungry for dinner around 4 p.m., and my productivity for the day will be shot to heck. I will be cranky, frazzled, and almost useless as a human being without my Sausage McMuffin With Egg. Unless I successfully make it to the drive-thru that morning and order my Sausage McMuffin With Egg, I won't have anything sticking to my ribs, comforting my belly and fueling my brain, my wit, my heart, my soul.

Of course, my recent breakfast love affair with Sausage McMuffin With Egg is a very silly metaphor, but it really does remind me of my ravenous quest for God.

When I'm tortured with spiritual hunger, I don't just have a neat little "God-shaped hole" inside me. If I don't track down my God -- my One and Only true God, my First Love, my Life Source -- I won't just have a tiny little tummy growl. Life as I know it will end. I will spend most of my time groping around for comfort from anywhere I can find it, and the satisfaction will only be temporary. Whatever it is I find to temporarily dull the pain will only go away after a very short while, and I'll be hurting all over again. No codependent relationship, no job overtime, no TV show, no all-you-can-eat buffet, no sexual fantasy, no selfish ambition, no dip into the pit, NOTHING will be able to stick to my ribs -- metaphorically speaking -- and feed me like God can. Once I find Him, I can take a deep breath, know that everything will be OK, and proceed successfully with my day.

This is life or death. This is serious business. This isn't just a convenient little religion that you spend $10 on and store at your desk for whenever you get the casual munchies. This isn't something that you can conveniently plug into from 11 a.m. to 12 p.m. on Sundays, 7 p.m. to 8 p.m. on Wednesdays, and then forget about the rest of the week. This is life or death.

A couple of years ago, my church recorded a worship CD. Before the recording, our pastor gave us an exhortation. In other words, he gave us a very polite, timely warning. He said that sometimes after the greatest triumphs, we can be open to major temptation, so we should be on our guard. He was right. I remember I sang in my church choir during that CD recording. It was the culmination of months of work and preparation, and it was an exhilarating experience. Then when I came home that evening, as soon as I closed the front door of my apartment and noticed that I didn't have anyone to share my triumph with, I thought, "Oh, this is why rock stars do drugs," and I was hit with a dangerously tempting loneliness.

What are you gonna do when that type of stuff hits? I can't be satisfied with dinky little snacks anymore. I need a hearty banquet to feast upon. This chick gets HUNGRY! This really is a matter of life or death.

God is my Friend, my Father, my Family, my Counselor, my Comforter, my Restorer, my Redeemer, the One who lets me cry on His shoulder, the One who laughs when I tell Him about the ludicrous thoughts that sometimes cross my mind, the One who firmly tells me no, the One who gently tells me yes, the One who hasn't burned me to a crisp even though He's a consuming fire and I've asked Him for multiple hugs, the One who has never failed to show up when I need Him, the One who romantically knows what I need before I ask for it, the One who writes stories that are so much more entertaining than any dumb old TV show, the One who exists even though I can't see Him with my measly little human eyes, the One who reserves a spot between His shoulders just for me, the One who I've needed all my life and didn't even know it. This One is my food. This One is my sustenance. This One sticks to my ribs and fuels every fiber of my being. I need Him. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM!!!

He isn't a feeling, a figment of my imagination, or a freak. He's a Real Person.

I truly can't feast upon anyone else but Him, not anymore. He's ruined me for life.