Sweet Cravings, Quiet Longings

It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it? To think we are masters of our own choices, especially when those choices involve something as simple as what to put on your plate. I've always believed in living deliberately – making mindful decisions about how I spend my time, how I treat others, and yes, even what I eat. After all, a body is a gift, isn’t it? A vessel for our spirit, deserving of care and respect.

Just last Friday, at the luncheon with the ladies from church, there was this wonderful talk about wholesome cooking – local produce, simple preparations, nourishment for the soul as well as the body. It was lovely to hear, truly inspiring. And yet… I found myself, later that afternoon, drawn to a display of those little frosted cookies at the supermarket. The kind with the sugary glaze and artificial coloring. Not something I would normally indulge in.

I’ve noticed this happening more lately, since Jerry passed. It's not a matter of weakness, you understand. It isn’t that I lack willpower. But there’s an undercurrent… a subtle shift in my desires. A longing for comfort, perhaps? A seeking of something beyond what’s good and right.

I remember thinking about it Monday morning, sitting at the kitchen table with my coffee – a simple cup, no sugar or cream, as I always have it. A list lay before me: volunteer schedule at the food pantry, organize the linen closet, finally sort through those old photo albums. Practical things. Things that bring order and purpose. And yet, this little craving persisted.

It's like… sometimes feeling a sense of responsibility for something bigger than myself – a connection to faith, to tradition, to the well-being of others—can strangely loosen your grip on personal restraint. You focus so intently on doing what’s right in the world that you inadvertently allow yourself some leeway with yourself. As if, somehow, striving to be good externally gives license for less virtuous choices internally.

My son, Marcus, he'd chuckle at this, I think. He always said I was too hard on myself. “Mom,” he would say, “you’re doing wonderful things! You deserve a little treat.” And of course, he’s right. But it isn’t so much about deserving the treat as it is about *why* I want it. It's that unsettling feeling that something deeper is at play – an impulse born not of hunger, but of something else entirely.

When I went to Brooklyn with Marcus and his family, those two weeks were a balm to my soul. Surrounded by their laughter, their needs, their simple joys… it shifted something within me. There was no room for dwelling on little indulgences when you're helping your grandchildren build Lego castles or packing lunches for school. Being needed in that direct way seemed to quiet those little whispers of craving. It reminded me that true fulfillment isn't found in fleeting pleasures, but in service and connection.

Perhaps it’s a test, as they say. A gentle nudge towards greater self-awareness. A reminder that even the most devout among us are still human, susceptible to temptation, and needing constant grace. Maybe recognizing these patterns is itself an act of faith— acknowledging our imperfections while striving for something better. I'll make another cup of coffee now, and perhaps add a single blueberry to my oatmeal. Small steps, you see. That’s all we can manage sometimes.