The Eating Contest

I’ve been mulling over this blog post for some time. Ironically, I absolutely did not want to write it today and am making myself do it anyway.

I’ve been thinking recently about happiness and joy (and had a very lengthy conversation on the subject with my very dear friend just this weekend).  I’ve needed to boil down my definitions of these two concepts and have found that it all looks different to everyone, which was fascinating, and I would love to hear comments on how people view it differently!

In my Thanksgiving post from the end of last year, I touched briefly about the war between flesh and spirit, what I think I have learned is that it is less of a war and more of an eating competition, and we stack the odds.

The flesh craves happiness.

The spirit craves joy.

I think what makes the flesh happy is usually set up by lack. Praise makes me happy if I have felt worthless. Food makes me happy if I have been hungry, Wealth makes me happy if I have been poor, etc etc etc. For me, I crave validation, time by myself away from the judgements and opinions of others, order and cleanliness, and yeah, I crave cake.

The spirit, the new spirit anyway—the one that has already been justified before and has peace with God *Rom 5:1* and been given an inheritance with Christ in the heavenly places *Eph 2:6* (I don’t quite remember what it was like, if I even acknowledged a higher desire than that of my flesh, before that point)—craves connection with its source, it’s vine, it’s light and life and, at least  for me, three things in particular:

To know God. To know myself, through his eyes, as he created me to be. And to make God known and seen by others.

I don’t know what your things are, but I encourage you to do some thinking into what your flesh and spirit crave and where you put, and ought to put, your resources.

Interestingly, when people are thirsty, they sometimes think they’re hungry. When their Spirit is hungry, they can often believe the Flesh is instead—a restlessness, an anhedonia, a general fog or dissatisfaction. And I can eat cake, clean everything, watch Youtube for hours, buy something, paint my nails, and at the end of the evening, I put off going to sleep because something doesn’t feel right. The day isn’t over. I haven’t fixed the feeling.

I haven’t fed my spirit with joy, even if I’m been trying to make my flesh happy. I have done nothing in that day to know God, to know who I am in him, or to make him known.

Because I can eat a dozen cheeseburgers and a gallon of ice cream, but I haven’t had any water!

Our flesh is loud, it’s prominent and obvious. It’s visceral. It yells a lot, things like: I have no money. I have no success. I have no status. I have no worth. I’m hungry. I’m cold. I’m tired. I’m grieving. I’m hurt. I’m addicted. I’m lonely. This isn’t what I wanted.

I used to have a habit of beating up my flesh when it started to talk like this—give it the backhand and tell it to shut up. I’ve been a little kinder of late. I’ve been letting it have its say and listen to some sad music and explain how it wanted things to be, for a little while. Because it’s okay to not be okay, and amazingly, at 27, I find it’s okay to not be perfect.

I can let my flesh speak, but I still don’t want to feed it.

I don’t want to go out looking for success or satisfaction that won’t lead to joy. I want to admit that I was created as a human being with a flesh and a sprit, and that’s not a bad thing, but to survive this really crappy world and all its disappointments and tragedies, I can’t just satisfy my flesh. I need to feed my spirit.

I realize nobody else is coming to the pity party, that looking through Pintrest is a lot like Madam Blueberry and her creepy photographs of her neighbor’s stuff, that no amount of feeding for my flesh compares to the living water my spirit craves. I talk to myself the way I do my 4-year-old son. “I know that’s what you want. You can’t have that right now, but you can do this instead.” And then pray we both understand why the alternative is a better option. 

Food for our flesh is not always readily available, and it runs out fast with the next tragedy or frustration or the last cupcake. Food for our spirit is always with us, will never leave or forsake us *Deut 31:6*.

When our flesh is our focus, our spirit is drowned by the hunger of that flesh. But when our spirit and its health are where our resources go, then it can grow to eclipse the flesh so that, in every circumstance, we can remain satisfied, have motivation in the right directions, make the right decisions, and love others more than ourselves.

I picture my spirit like my shadow, always with me, but not always acknowledged. In the metaphorical sunset, the cool of the afternoon, the peace of the coming night, it’s huge and towers before me on the path. In the noon though, when the sun is high, the heat intense, and thirst of my flesh unquenchable, the spirit shrinks to barely visible.  

So, to sum up, my flesh, like yours, is really freaking hungry. There are so many things it wants and craves and cries for. But we are not just flesh and wants and frustration. We are set above with Christ in heavenly places, people! We are the workmanship and the hands and feet of the true and living God. Let your flesh have it’s say, be kind to it, but don’t let it win. Ask God what he designed your spirt to crave, and then feed it like crazy.

I really want a cupcake now.