Last night I cried real tears.

I’m pretty sure it was emotional overwhelm — and honestly, I didn’t see that coming.

Our family dinners don’t look the same right now. About half of us are fasting and half aren’t, and those big sit-down meals that usually feel so normal suddenly feel… different.

And if I’m continuing in full honesty — I still don’t like vegetables, and fruit is meant to be a snack or dessert, not a meal.

In my opinion anyway 🤷🏻‍♀️

Meals, to me, are meant to be enjoyed around a table with people you love. It’s never been just about the food — it’s the fellowship that fills me. But let’s not pretend the savory goodness of a ribeye doesn’t help. Or the slab of salmon in the fridge waiting to be smoked…..or even chicken nuggets.

Last night I noticed something in my heart that I want to pay attention to.

I saw how easy it would be to become resentful toward my husband.

He felt the Lord leading us into this fast and chose to follow. I joined him — not because this was something I deeply wanted to do — but because I wanted to support his leadership and walk beside him.

And somewhere between gagging down oatmeal, brown rice and missing steak bites, I realized I could very easily blame him for what I don’t get to eat right now.

But that wouldn’t be helpful… and it certainly wouldn’t be right.

Then another thought surfaced that stopped me a little:

If I’m not careful, resentment toward people can quietly turn into resentment toward God.

And isn’t that the slow drift we see in King Nebuchadnezzar? A heart that resisted the Lord until humility was no longer optional.

I am not trying to become that hard-headed… or hard-hearted.

What surprised me most is that the opposite is actually happening.

My reverence is growing — not diminishing.

Because every time I start lamenting what I consider “real food,” it is becoming a trigger for prayer.

Hunger is turning my heart toward God instead of away from Him.

And I am noticing something shift:

My prayer reflex is getting stronger.

Not perfect.

But stronger.

Much like Daniel’s quiet resolve — a steady turning toward God again and again.

And clearly… that is the point.

Not dietary restriction.

Not spiritual performance.

But dependence.

Fasting has a way of revealing what normally stays hidden under comfort. It exposes how quickly we reach for satisfaction — and how rarely we sit with need.

Yet need has a purpose.

Need reminds us we are not self-sufficient.

Need softens us.

Need draws us closer.

So here on day five, I am realizing this fast is not really about food at all.

It is about surrender.

Choosing unity in my marriage.

Guarding my heart from resentment.

Letting discomfort become prayer.

And learning, slowly, what it means to live with open hands before the Lord.

I may still miss steak… but I don’t want to miss what God is forming in me.