Every morning I wake up hungry. But minutes race forward the moment I open my eyes. I pretend they pause while I sleep, but really, they’re always ticking. I feel their insistent pulses. What time is there to feed my hunger when time is ticking, racing?
My need comes before I open my eyes. It’s unfair. I hate that it chooses me before I have the power to kill it. I would beg every morning for bread to assuage my need if I wasn’t so ashamed. Ashamed that I never feel full without Him. Is He disgusted by my broken, needy sounds?
The hunger regenerates inside me, a new flavor of deficiency for every day of the week. Blue and sad. Angry bullish red. Thick black and fearful. Why must my humanity be dependent on meeting my terribly great needs?
This morning, may I have the strength to listen to my hunger and feed it. Not ignore it like some petulant child. May I celebrate the mornings that hunger is met in Your voice. And may I press forward in the mornings when silence forces me to sit uncomfortable, waiting for You. May I remember that Your hope is not brittle. It is as sure as sun rising. May I remember to thank you for Isaiah, Psalms, for friends, for kind books, soft and deep. May I remember to thank you for the wind that breaks through the pins in my hair and the thoughts in my mind. And today may I be one beggar leading another beggar to You.