It struck me a few weeks ago how pacifiers for babies work; they simulate the comfort of getting breakfast from mom. (Or Second Breakfast. Or Elevensies…) I was watching my 3-month-old nephew when this struck me: food is a pacifier for adults.
When I am grumpy, angry, what have you, I’m not always tempted to think that food will make me feel better. But if I am hungry when I’m tired, cranky, upset, then I really find myself staring down the barrel of a big lie: “Here. Eat something. You’ll feel better.” But it’s not true. I won’t.
A work problem isn’t solved with a food solution. A relationship struggle isn’t fixed with a sandwich. Financial fears are not allayed with cupcakes. Spiritual angst over the direction of my life isn’t resolved with high-fructose corn syrup.
Jesus, please convince me to place God-sized burdens on your shoulders, and only on yours.