Last weekend was not just another ordinary day. It was a day set apart—a day of fasting, prayer, and spiritual hunger. Together with my churchmates, we committed a day to seek the Lord, deny ourselves of food, and let our spirits feast on His presence.
Early in the morning, we gathered with light hearts but hungry stomachs. Not for food—but for more of God. We started with worship, lifting our hands and voices. Even without breakfast, our energy came from somewhere deeper. There’s a different kind of strength when you’re united in one purpose: to press in and hear God’s voice.
Throughout the day, we shared short exhortations, read scriptures, and spent quiet moments praying both individually and in groups. What touched me the most was seeing everyone pour their hearts out—some in tears, others in deep silence. But all of us were desperate for God’s presence.
As the hours passed, the physical hunger grew. But even more, so did the peace in our hearts. God was moving. There were breakthroughs, confirmations, and even healing. I realized again that when you choose to surrender comfort, God meets you with something eternal.
By the time we broke our fast in the evening, it wasn’t just our bodies being fed. Our souls were full. Full of joy, clarity, renewed faith, and a deeper bond with one another.
Fasting with your churchmates hits differently. It’s not just about skipping meals—it’s about saying, “Lord, You are worth more than anything else I could consume today.” And truly, He was.
Not in a loud way, but in that deep, unmistakable peace that settles in when you’re in God’s presence. I felt seen. Not for what I do, or how strong I appear—but for who I truly am: broken, weak, but loved.
A sister in the church shared her testimony afterward. She had been carrying deep pain from a family situation, and during one of the prayer times, she said she finally felt freedom. She cried as she shared, and all of us could feel it—God was healing her right in front of our eyes. And in her healing, we were reminded that God is still working… even in our waiting.
Around 5 p.m., our bodies began to really feel the lack of food. Heads were aching, energy was low, but our spirits were strong. That’s the irony of fasting: the less you feed your body, the more alive your spirit becomes. We ended the fast with communion, breaking bread together as a symbol of Jesus being our daily bread.
Then finally, the food came in. And yes, we were excited. But interestingly, the atmosphere didn’t shift to “party mode.” We ate quietly, still aware of the sacredness of what we had just experienced. As I took my first bite, I whispered, “Thank You, Lord,” not just for the food—but for everything that had happened that day.
That day taught me that fasting is more than just skipping meals—it’s about feeding what truly matters: your spirit. It reminded me that we are not just physical beings—we are souls, longing to reconnect with our Creator.
I realized that I often let the world feed me: social media, opinions, entertainment, even constant busyness. But during fasting, when all of that is stripped away, I get to ask myself: “What am I really full of?”
The truth is, sometimes we’re so full of noise, stress, and distractions that there’s no room left for God. Fasting clears the space. It gives God permission to rearrange, to heal, and to realign us back to Him.
Fasting alone is powerful—but fasting with your churchmates? That’s something else entirely. There’s strength in numbers, yes—but more than that, there’s unity. I saw people praying for one another, encouraging each other, even crying together. There were no titles or roles in that room. Just sons and daughters hungry for the Father.
It’s beautiful when you know you’re not the only one battling doubts or carrying pain. We were all struggling with something. But by fasting together, we reminded each other that we don’t fight alone.
Now that the day has passed, I find myself still chewing on the lessons. It’s easy to go back to normal after a spiritual high—but I don’t want that. I want to live spiritually awake. I want to be more intentional about guarding my time, my thoughts, my hunger.
Prayer and fasting didn’t fix all my problems. But it shifted something inside me. It brought clarity where there was confusion, peace where there was anxiety, and faith where there was fear.
To anyone reading this, I encourage you—try setting aside a day for God. Deny your body for a few hours, and let your spirit rise. You don’t have to be super religious or perfect. Just willing.
God meets us in the hunger. And when He fills you, it’s with something that no meal can ever give.