"BREAKFAST!" I hollered as I flipped the last of the French toast onto a plate, hoping the sound would carry to the father and son watching cartoons together in the bedroom as well as to the brothers battling over video games in the basement. That one word meant "come and get it" to my waiting family, and soon the tromping of feet up the stairs and muffled laughter coming down the hallway told me that they'd heard and were acting in response.
I, too, was hungry this morning, but for something other than French toast and bacon. Needing to hear from God about a matter, I went to Him and explained what was troubling me. I knew He'd have an answer waiting for me. I even knew where to look for it. My hunger would not be satisfied in a meal at the kitchen table but rather in the pages of my Bible where I'd find His response and the necessary guidance on how to pray.
My family can tell from my yell and the smells coming from the kitchen that breakfast is ready. But their appetites won't be appeased until they make a move towards the table, pick up their forks and dig into the food set in front of them. Likewise I won't find the answers to satisfy my hungry soul until I come to the Bread of Life and begin to eat.
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