God, Fasting, and the Things We’d Rather Not Talk About

There comes a point in life when the words “You’re due for a colonoscopy” stop sounding like something that happens to other people and start sounding like something that is, unfortunately, happening to you.

For those of us 45 and older, we know the dreaded appointment is coming. We may not know exactly when, but eventually the reminder appears, the doctor mentions it, and suddenly you find yourself thinking, Maybe I can just skip this one?

I’ll admit it: I put mine off for a couple of years.

But becoming a parent has a funny way of changing your perspective on things. I know my health needs to be a priority—not because I particularly enjoy doctors, needles, tests, or anything involving the phrase “medical prep,” but because I want to be here. I want to be here for the big things and the little things. I want to see my daughter grow up. I want to be around for graduations, birthdays, vacations, arguments over whose turn it is to do the dishes, and all the ordinary Tuesdays in between.

So I made the appointment.

And then I slowly began counting down the days.

Now, let me clarify something: I wasn’t particularly afraid of the actual procedure. In fact, being put to sleep for a little while and having a legitimate medical excuse to rest for the remainder of the day sounded almost luxurious.

No, my dread was reserved for one thing.

The prep.

Specifically, the fasting.

I had heard the horror stories about the prep drink, of course. Friends had warned me. The internet had warned me. Basically, everyone who had ever survived this experience seemed determined to make sure I knew exactly what I was in for.

And yes.

The prep drink was another level of HORROR.

But even before I got to that part, I knew the fasting was going to be difficult for me.

I have a complicated relationship with food, which means I have learned to be careful about restriction. Even when I fast for church, I typically choose something like social media or caffeine rather than food. So as my appointment got closer, I realized I wasn’t simply dreading being hungry for a day.

I was already trying to figure out how I would control it.

What would I eat before? How would I handle the hunger? How would I distract myself? How long until I could eat again?

I became fixated on it.

And, honestly, it was a little ironic. I was worried about losing control over food while simultaneously trying to control every possible detail of the experience.

So when the day finally came, I started it differently.

I prayed.

I asked God to remove my need to control food. I asked Him to use this strange, uncomfortable, very unglamorous day to expose the deeper lies I had believed about it. I asked Him to help me remember that He is the One who provides—not just physical food, but the food that actually gives life.

Jesus said, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never go hungry.” — John 6:35

So every time my stomach growled, I prayed.

God, fill me with Your Word.

God, help me trust You.

God, remind me that I am okay.

God, help me surrender this.

Did the day crawl by?

Yes.

Did I find myself turning to other distractions and completely forgetting to pray, only to remember twenty minutes later?

Absolutely.

Was the prep drink a nightmare?

One hundred percent.

There is no spiritual metaphor profound enough to make that drink taste good.

And somewhere around the middle of the day, I had another important realization:

I could NEVER compete on Survivor.

Never.

I don’t care how much money they offer. I don’t care how beautiful the island is. I don’t care how many alliances I can form.

Put me on a deserted island without food and I will choose to leave the island after one day.

But somewhere between the hunger, the distractions, the prayers, the prep drink, and the dramatic countdown to when I could finally eat again, something shifted.

I realized that God wasn’t asking me to conquer some enormous spiritual mountain that day. He was simply inviting me to let Him into something ordinary and uncomfortable.

Sometimes we imagine experiencing God in the big moments—the burning bush, the parted sea, the impossible miracle. And certainly, He is there in those moments.

But He is also there when we’re sitting on the couch hungry.

He’s there when we’re anxious about something that feels silly to everyone else but feels very real to us.

He’s there when we’re struggling to surrender something we’ve been trying to control for years.

He’s there in the ordinary.

And maybe that’s one of the most beautiful things about God: He doesn’t need our circumstances to be dramatic before He wants to be involved.

“The Lord is near to all who call on him.” — Psalm 145:18

He already knows every detail. He knows what we’re worried about before we say it. He knows the places where we struggle to trust Him. He knows the things we try to control.

But He still invites us to actively include Him.

Even in the uncomfortable things.

Especially there.

So yes, I survived the fasting. I survived the prep. I survived the drink that I hope never to encounter again (at least not for another 10 years). And I came away with a renewed appreciation for both food and modern medicine.

But more importantly, I walked away reminded that hard things don’t always require a grand miracle.

Sometimes God gets us through them one hour, one prayer, one growling stomach at a time.

I started that day thinking I needed to figure out how I was going to get myself through it. I ended it realizing that maybe I didn’t need to figure it all out. Maybe I just needed to let God be with me in it.

Because He doesn’t only meet us in the moments that make great stories. He meets us on the couch, in the waiting, in the discomfort, and in the places where we’re learning to let go.

And He wants to be invited in.