What’s Controlling Me
“Fasting reveals the things that control you.” Richard Foster, The Celebration of Discipline
I’ve been letting that quote bounce around in my mind for months. Like the caterpillar game, every time it bumps against something related, it adds on to the caterpillar so that it’s becoming a longer and longer train of thought that is becoming harder to ignore. It’s taking up more mental space, and it’s bumping into more areas of my life that it previously was too small to notice or find the connection to.
Let’s talk a little about my fasting journey. . .
I grew up learning that fasting was something that “super” Christians did on a regular basis or for long periods of time. It was something that was not to be talked about—it was just between you and God. And it was usually reserved for when you had to make big decisions or had really big prayer requests, and then you fasted as a last-ditch attempt to get God’s attention. So, I rarely did it.
In the last couple of years, I’ve learned so much more about fasting that convinced me this should be a life rhythm, not a one-off when I really “needed” an answer from God. So I began a 30-ish hour/week fast—only water from the end of Tuesday lunch to the beginning of Wednesday dinner. It was hard. It is hard. And I’m starting to see that that might be part of the point. Allow me to explain.
I can get to about the 24-hour mark without any life-altering effects. I can function, sleep, and produce good work. But at around 24 hours, my brain starts to fog, my patience is almost non-existent, and I become way less productive, and sometimes, just plain mean. At that point, my pantry looks like it’s filled with the most divine food options a person could dream of—ramen begins to rival New York strip. And my brain immediately goes in hyper drive trying to find a justification for eating:
“I have to eat because . . . this work needs to get done, and I can’t get it done when my brain is foggy. . . . my kids have suffered enough of my bad mood; they need me to eat so I can be nicer. . . . I’m about to ______ (fill in with physical activity of choice), and I don’t want to bonk and make a fool of myself. . . . what’s this pain in my _______ (fill in with random body part)? That’s not good. I should eat before I die . . . okay, maybe not die, but . . . maybe!”
It’s super clear that food has a big influence on my life, but I don’t think that’s what, as the quotes says, is controlling me. What’s controlling me is my desire for comfort. In those first 24 hours of fasting, comfort comes in the form of food. As the time wears on, what I turn to next to get some semblance of comfort is even more telling. Sometimes it’s my phone—I can mindlessly scroll for hours just to help me finish off my fast. Yes, I haven’t broken the fast, but I got my hit of comfort to get me through. Other times I justify drinking something like a fizzy water because I’m not “eating,” but I feel better with that drink inside me. Other times, I want to crawl in bed or turn on a movie. Or I get on Marco Polo and talk to my friends.
There’s nothing “wrong” with any of those vices. What’s becoming abundantly clear to me is that while there’s nothing wrong with any one of those things, there’s also no attempt on my part to turn to God. Is God truly the leader of my life—my source of help, health, and joy? I say He is. But fasting paints another picture. When I am hungry and my physical body feels to its core very uncomfortable, I have a chance to observe where I turn for comfort. I’m beginning to understand that what brings me comfort is truly what’s in control of my life. I’ll stop at nothing to get to that feeling of “normal” again, and fasting reveals that when my “normal” isn’t complete dependence on God—which is most of the time.
I’m preparing to do a 7-day water-only fast. And, for you dear readers, I’ll be honest. I’m nervous. I’m not nervous of how it’ll affect me health-wise. I’m nervous to see what it reveals—those ugly vices for comfort that are completely buried in justifications and intentional blindness. And seeing as how I’m a recovering control freak and perfectionist, to be faced with my imperfections in a time of complete physical weakness is daunting. My goal is to lean in to God when it’s the worst. And I’m curious to see what I actually fill my time with. There’s some big confessions coming. Get ready. 💛
