Satisfaction
Taking a bite of crisp, sweet watermelon outside on a sunny day is one of life’s simple pleasures. Yet there is a strange duality to it. It’s a bit like potato chips (though much healthier, obviously): you can eat a lot, and it seems satisfying, but there is no real fulfillment. It’s a nice snack, but by no means is it a meal.
I’ve tried to explain this to Oliver without success. He is not a picky eater, which I’m grateful for, but if there is watermelon in the house, he wants that and nothing else. He’ll ignore steak and potatoes for what is sweet but insubstantial, only to tell me 15 minutes later that he is hungry again. And in a multitude of ways, we do the same.
Since becoming a parent, moments like these have given me insight into our relationship with God. We are the impulsive, defiant, vulnerable, lovable children of God. Like parents, God sees the bigger picture, sometimes keeping us from what we want in order to care for what we need. When our children hurt, rebel, or thrive, we feel it deeply. How much more must God feel this for us?
In this modern world we are bombarded with temporary comforts, habits, and distractions to satisfy a hunger that is persistent and real. We reach for what is quick, sweet, and easy, wondering why we still feel empty afterward. Like Oliver with his watermelon, we fill ourselves with things that were never meant to sustain us.
We find satisfaction not in getting more of what we crave, but in learning to hunger for what actually nourishes us.
