So we’re on the fourth day of this fast, asking God to wake up a generation (or at least a remnant). Most people, I believe, are starting two days from now – on Sunday.

It’s amazing how the body fights you every step of the way. It’s a wrestling match. Yet we follow a Lord who made fasting and self-denial a lifestyle. In a land that caters to those who consume (as opposed to what we’re doing here – refraining from consuming), that is counter-culture.

I find myself fighting two things in particular: my mind and my body. The body is the more obvious opponent, rising up like a petulant child and crying out. Hunger pains come and go – they are more an issue of discomfort than sheer, piercing pain. My tendency in life is to give in to my body far too frequently. I need to, with Paul, learn “the secret of being content in any and every situation whether well-fed or hungry” (Phil. 4:12).

My mind is a trickier opponent. The habit of eating is not easily broken. Extend it out much beyond 50 days, and you will die. Food is a happy, pleasurable thing. We are by nature pleasure-seekers and pain-avoiders.

My wistful glances at the refrigerator have a certain restrained madness behind them that, if ever unleashed, would make me sound as crazy as Bruce the shark in “Finding Nemo.” You’ll recall, Bruce is the Great White who, abandoning the thin veneer of restraint, wildly declares, “I’m having fish tonight!”

There’s a Bruce the shark raging down inside me. No wonder Paul’s advice to the church at Colosse sounds so ruthless: “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature” (Col. 3:5).