“Craving hearts will never know satisfaction regardless how often or how much God provides.”
So tweeted my friend, Alicia Chole. I sat with her thought for a bit, knowing that her words are never casually written. Instead, she writes and lives from a deep well. After considering her contemplation, I probed her heart further with a tweet of my own:
“And so my question, how to rid oneself of the crave?”
Her response was what I expected . . . another probing truth that has captured my thoughts this rainy Tuesday afternoon. She writes:
“For me personally, one of the first steps is identifying my specific ‘address’ for interior contentment.”
Go ahead; sit with it all for a few minutes. Think about craving hearts and specific addresses. Think about satisfaction and interior contentment. Think about what it is you are craving and what specific ‘address’ is attached to that craving. And then, if you’re willing, ask yourself a question or two.
Does Jesus live in this place? Is this the home of his choosing?
If not, then, perhaps, a move is in store for you. Get to where to Jesus lives and watch your satisfaction grow—an inner soul-contentment no longer fueled by worldly provision but instead fueled by heaven’s dispensation.
Where are you parking your heart this day? It seems as if mine has been drifting as of late. I suppose I have a bit of Jonah inside of me, thoughts of Tarshish instead of Nineveh; thoughts of steering my own ship instead of taking a seat in God’s. A search . . . a craving that never knows a full measure of satisfaction, no matter how much or how often God’s provision rains down over me.
Today is a good day for a reroute. A right time to come home to Jesus, to live where he lives, and to drink from the cup that refreshes us both. I don’t want to finish this day unsatisfied, unfulfilled, and underwhelmed by the faith that I profess to believe. Instead, I want to finish this day firmly convinced and richly contented by the provision of a Father whose love for me knows no limits. Accordingly, I move toward Jesus. I park my heart at the front door of his heart, and I wait for this craving in me to let go . . . to die so that I might hold something better, something purer, something eternal that no longer empties me but, rather, frees me.
I invite you to come along, to join me at God’s address. There’s room enough at his table for us all. There’s grace enough to feed us as well. As always . . .
Peace for the journey,
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