Have you ever prepared a really good meal for your kids—something balanced and nourishing—and when you call them to the table, they say, “I’m not hungry”? And then you discover that just before dinner they had potato chips or a bowl of ice cream.
Of course they’re not hungry. They filled up on something that tasted good in the moment but didn’t really nourish them. They spoiled their appetite.
I think we understand this so clearly when it comes to food. But sometimes we don’t recognize it in our spiritual lives.
Jesus said, I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry (John 6:35).
And in John 4:14, he told the woman at the well the water he gives would become a spring of water welling up to eternal life. In other words, he offers real nourishment. Real satisfaction. The kind that actually fills the deepest places in us.
And yet how often do we find ourselves spiritually dull, distracted, or just not very hungry for him? It may not be because we don’t love God. It may simply be we’ve been snacking all day on other things.
We live in a world of constant input. Television, social media, streaming shows, podcasts, news, endless scrolling. None of those things are automatically evil. But they can quietly crowd out our appetite for what truly feeds our souls.
Have you ever noticed when you spend a long evening watching something that isn’t uplifting, it’s harder to turn around and open your Bible? Or when your mind has been saturated with the world’s values and drama, prayer doesn’t come as naturally? It’s not that God has moved away. It’s that we’re full.
The Psalmist says, O taste and see that the Lord is good (Psalm 34:8). That verse implies something important—you have to taste. You have to come to the table. You have to make room.
I’ve heard from women who realized a daily habit—maybe a show they watched every night, or certain novels they devoured—wasn’t helping their hearts. At first it seemed harmless. But over time they noticed their thoughts drifting, their peace shrinking, their desire for God weakening.
One woman told me she began praying Romans 12:1–2 each day, asking God to renew her mind and help her not be conformed to the world. Slowly, the Holy Spirit made her aware what she was feeding on was shaping her thinking. It wasn’t dramatic. It was gradual. And by God’s grace, she made a change. As she removed some of that “junk food,” her appetite for Scripture grew stronger again. That’s how it works.
Paul wrote in Romans 6 we will be slaves to something—either to impurity or to righteousness. That may sound strong, but it’s simply true. Whatever we consistently feed becomes what we crave. And cravings grow.
Addictions don’t usually begin in dramatic ways. They begin with small, repeated choices. One episode. One book. One click. But over time, what once felt like a small indulgence can start to control our thoughts and steal our hunger for better things.
On the other hand, the same principle works beautifully in reverse. When we consistently choose righteousness—when we open God’s Word even when we don’t feel like it, when we pray honestly, when we listen to music or teaching that lifts our hearts—our appetite changes. We begin to crave what nourishes us. Holiness stops feeling restrictive and starts feeling freeing.
Jesus described his living water as something that becomes a spring inside of us. That means satisfaction doesn’t just come from outside circumstances—it flows from within. But that spring is clearer and stronger when we’re not constantly dumping pollutants into it.
This isn’t about legalism. It’s not about making a list of forbidden things. It’s about asking a gentle question: What is shaping my appetite? If I’m not hungry for God, what might be filling me up instead?
Maybe it’s hours of television. Maybe it’s social medi
