by Venice Robinson

Hunger is defined as a feeling of discomfort or weakness caused by lack of food, coupled with the desire to eat.

When I read that definition, a few words jumped off the page:

Discomfort … Oh, I know it well.
Weakness … Yeah, let’s just say I have more than a few.
Lack … I could easily rattle off all the things I think are missing in my life.
Desire … Now that one hits deep. I’ve longed for so much that has gone unfulfilled.

And as I sat with those words, I couldn’t help but think back to a season when hunger consumed me not physically, but deep in my soul. For me, the greatest hunger I’ve wrestled with wasn’t for comfort or approval or even success.

It was for significance.

To believe I was making a real, lasting impact.

To know my life mattered.

And the wild part? That hunger for significance didn’t hit before I knew Jesus. It showed up years into following Him. Years into ministry. Years into pouring myself out for the sake of the Gospel. I left the only home I’d ever known to pursue God’s call. I moved across the country to serve at a non profit organization in Los Angeles and spent seven years giving everything I had, to love and serve others. And those years? They were full of so much good. I witnessed miracles. I saw lives transformed. I grew in ways I never expected. But looking back, I can see that I was also feeding on some really unhealthy things.

And slowly, almost without realizing it, I got caught up in chasing what everyone else said should be on my plate if I wanted to feel truly satisfied.

I needed to look a certain way.

I needed to earn a certain amount of money.

I needed to be married, have kids, own a beautiful home.

These were the true signs of a life fulfilled in Christ … right?

That’s what I started to believe, even if I wouldn’t have said it out loud. If I checked all the right boxes and followed the formula, I’d finally feel full. But here’s the problem with chasing someone else’s version of “fulfilled”: No matter how much you pile on your plate, it never fills you. And somewhere deep down, I knew it.

And if I’m being fully transparent, that hunger for significance … it didn’t just stay internal.

It led me into a marriage I probably shouldn’t have been in. What started as hope quickly unraveled into heartache. And ultimately, it led to divorce—a word I never imagined would become part of my story. And the hunger I thought marriage might finally satisfy?

It left me emptier than ever before.

Lonelier.

More disillusioned.

Starving for something I couldn’t seem to find, no matter how hard I looked or how much I gave.

Because that’s the thing about misplaced hunger. When we try to fill eternal needs with temporary things (even good things), we end up more depleted than when we started.

So what did I do with that hunger?

Honestly … nothing holy.

I feasted on anything that might numb the ache. Things that satisfied my flesh for a moment or helped me disassociate just long enough to forget what was really going on inside. If the discomfort snuck up, I changed the subject. Deflected. Maybe gossiped about someone else to distract from my own mess.

And if someone pointed out a weakness? Defensive. Shut down. Shame-spiraled straight into a cheeseburger and fries or ice cream, or shopping, or scrolling anything to drown out the negative chatter in my mind.

It exploded into this vicious cycle of striving and disappointment. I chased whatever I thought would finally fill the void, only to end up emptier than before.

I prayed, but I doubted.
I hoped, but I hustled.

I said I was trusting God, but the truth was, most days I was just trying to keep the hunger quiet.

But what if the hunger was never meant to be silenced?

What if it’s the very thing that’s meant to lead us back to Him?

Because here’s the thing—Jesus knew we’d be hungry. Not just physically, but soul deep. He knew we’d spend our lives trying to fill the emptiness with quick fixes and temporary comforts. And so, in His kindness, He made it plain:

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35, NIV)

Jesus isn’t offering us a snack to hold us over. He’s offering Himself. The only One who can satisfy the gnawing ache we carry around. The Bread of Life. Sustenance for our souls. Nourishment that doesn’t just fill us for a moment but changes us from the inside out.

So maybe the hunger isn’t a problem to solve or an ache to numb.

Maybe it’s an invitation.

An invitation to come to the table. To stop running. To stop stuffing ourselves with what was never meant to satisfy. And to feast on the only One who can.

So let me ask you…

What have you been feeding on lately?

What cravings are driving your thoughts, your decisions, your relationships?

Where are you feeling the ache of hunger—hunger for significance, for security, for love, for purpose?

And what if that hunger isn’t something to be ashamed of but an invitation to come back to the only One who can truly satisfy?

Take a moment. Be honest with yourself. And if you’re ready, pray this with me:

Jesus,

I’m hungry.
I’ve been trying to fill the empty spaces with things that were never meant to satisfy.
I’ve chased approval, control, comfort, and success. I’ve looked to people and platforms to tell me who I am and why I matter.
And the truth is, I’m still starving.But today, I hear Your invitation.
You are the Bread of Life.
You are the only One who can nourish my soul.
So I’m coming back to the table.
Feed me with what’s real.
Fill me with Your presence.
Teach me to crave You above everything else.

Amen