I Bumbled Through My First Spiritual Fast

 What My First Fast Taught Me About Comfort, Hunger, and Hearing God

The first week of January, I did my first real fast.

I was excited — genuinely excited — but also unsure if I could actually finish it. I chose a one-meal-after-6 p.m. fast for seven days. When hunger became intense around 4 p.m., I allowed myself one orange and made sure I stayed hydrated with water. It wasn’t extreme. It was intentional.

I wanted to begin the year aligned.

I wanted God to reveal Himself to me.
To talk to me.
To show me my path.

What I didn’t expect was how much the fast would reveal about me.

Day One: Hunger and Honesty

Day one was simple: Bible study, prayer, one orange.

My prayer was straightforward: God, reveal Yourself to me. Speak to me. Show me where I’m going.

There’s something humbling about starting a fast. You quickly realize how much of your day is built around eating. Hunger comes in waves, especially mid-afternoon. Around 4 p.m., it would feel almost urgent. But when I paused, drank water, and ate that orange slowly, I saw something clearly:

Hunger peaks — and then it passes.

That realization carried spiritual weight. Not every urge is an emergency.

Day Two: Drawing Closer

Day two followed a similar rhythm — Bible study, prayer, one orange.

But my prayer shifted slightly. Instead of asking primarily for direction, I prayed for closeness. I asked God to draw me nearer.

And something subtle began happening. I felt more aware. More intentional. Less distracted. It wasn’t dramatic. It was relational.

Day Three: Resistance

Day three was different.

I studied. I prayed. I added prayers for others. I had one apple as a snack.

And then I experienced something that shook me.

It felt like something between a dream and a vision — almost lucid. A figure attempted to feed me a spoonful of blue rocks. It felt disturbingly real. I remember physically closing my mouth, and that act snapped me out of it.

I don’t fully understand what it meant. I’m still processing it. But it felt like resistance. A moment where something symbolic — something unnatural — tried to enter during a vulnerable state.

The fact that I physically responded — that I closed my mouth — stayed with me. Even in a trance-like moment, there was agency.

That day I also began praying specifically for protection.

Day Four: Abraham, Protection, and Provision

Day four brought clarity.

I studied the story of Abraham and reflected on obedience and trust. I chose not to have a snack that day. I prayed for protection over myself and my family.

That evening, my husband and I prayed together for our family and finances.

We didn’t pray for a specific person to send money. We prayed for help from God.

Later, unexpectedly, a friend sent us money.

I don’t take that lightly.

Was it dramatic? No.
Was it loud? No.
But it felt like quiet confirmation: God sees.

That day I also realized something that would become a central theme for the week:

Comfort can distance us from God.

When we are full, satisfied, comfortable, and soothed, we often don’t seek Him as urgently. Fasting removes that comfort. It keeps you in a state of mild, consistent discomfort — and that discomfort turns into constant awareness.

You are always thinking.
Always choosing.
Always redirecting your hunger.

And in that redirection, you pray.

Day Five: Confession and Clarity

Day five felt heavy. I was tired of fasting. I wanted normalcy.

But instead of quitting, I leaned into confession.

I studied Scripture, including passages in Genesis that forced me to wrestle with cultural realities like concubinage — topics that require humility and context. Throughout the day, I confessed attitudes, pride, impatience, and distractions.

Confession truly is good for the soul.

There is something cleansing about naming your shortcomings before God instead of hiding them.

That day, gratitude also deepened. Food. Grace. Provision. Freedom. Choice.

Fasting is voluntary. Many people don’t choose hunger. Remembering that shifted my posture from irritation to thankfulness.

Day Six: Gratitude

By day six, my prayers became simple: thank You.

Thank You for provision.
Thank You for closeness.
Thank You for access.

One of the strongest truths that solidified in me during this fast is this:

God is always with us because of the access given through Jesus.

We don’t fast to convince God to show up.

We fast because He already has.

We fast not because He withholds, but because He provides so consistently that we sometimes take mercy for granted.

Provision can make us forget the Provider.

The Epiphany About Comfort

Here is the clearest insight from my seven days:

When we go about our days constantly eating and comforting ourselves, we rarely seek God with urgency. Satisfaction dulls pursuit.

It is often discomfort that drives prayer.

A fast keeps you in discomfort — not extreme suffering, but enough awareness that you cannot ignore your need. And that constant awareness turns into constant conversation.

I felt a relationship growing.

I felt like I could speak to Him more freely. More naturally.

And I realized something humbling: perhaps with a longer fast, I might even grow in confidence to say I can clearly discern when He responds.

That thought doesn’t come from arrogance. It comes from longing.

Closing With Communion

On the final day, our church — which I attend online from abroad — closed the fast with communion.

It felt right.

Communion is remembrance. Fasting is dependence.

Together, they create alignment.

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What I Learned

• Confession cleanses the heart.

• Gratitude expands when comfort shrinks.

• God provides — sometimes quietly, but faithfully.

• Discomfort can sharpen spiritual sensitivity.

• We fast not to manipulate God, but to remember how deeply we need Him. 

  I was unsure if I could do it. But I did. I started the week asking God to reveal Himself.

  By the end, I realized He had been present the entire time.

  I just needed to remove the noise long enough to notice. This was my first fast.