Today, I passed by a confectionary shop filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies. The scent was not just sweet—it was magnetic. It wrapped itself around my senses like a warm blanket, drawing me in even before I could identify what it was. The moment my nose caught the fragrance, my stomach began to grumble with a growl so distinct I laughed to myself. “Groom groom,” it seemed to say, not just with need but with desire. And yet, it wasn’t hunger for food in the ordinary sense. I wasn’t craving rice or bread or a filling meal. I wanted cookies. Not later, not when I had money or time or company—right there and then, I longed for cookies.
It’s strange how something as simple as a smell can awaken a deeper longing. That moment reminded me of how often we find ourselves desiring things that seem small, even trivial, but which tug at something more significant within us. The smell of cookies turned into a symbol of something else—a moment of comfort, sweetness, rest. Maybe it reminded me of my childhood, or a holiday, or simply a time when life felt simpler. Whatever it was, that yearning exposed something about the nature of desire itself. It rarely makes appointments. It shows up uninvited and insists on being noticed.
The more I reflect on that moment, the more I realize how much of life is shaped by cravings. Some are physical, like the desire for food or rest. Others are emotional—our hunger for affirmation, for companionship, for understanding. And others are deeply spiritual. The Psalmist captures this spiritual craving so well in Psalm 42:1, “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.” Just like I longed for cookies when I passed that shop, our souls long for God when we catch even a hint of His presence.
And here’s what struck me: I didn’t just want a cookie. I wanted to feel something—a memory, a joy, a fullness that extended beyond my stomach. That desire felt so immediate, so alive, because it pointed beyond the cookie itself. And isn’t that often the case? The things we long for in the moment are usually signs of something deeper our souls are aching for. We’re not just hungry for sweetness—we’re hungry for delight. Not just food, but fulfillment. We’re looking for something that will reach the ache we cannot name.
I was reminded in that moment how powerful our longings are, and how easily they can reveal our inner world. Desire is not the enemy of faith—it is, in fact, a doorway to it. When rightly understood, our cravings are clues. They tell us what we treasure, what we miss, what we hope for. They tell us where our hearts have attached themselves. Jesus never dismissed human desire. In fact, in John 6:35, He speaks to it directly: “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” He invites us not to shut down our hunger, but to redirect it—to find our deepest satisfaction in Him.
That lingering smell of cookies made me wonder: when was the last time I desired God like that? When was the last time my soul stirred just from a glimpse of His goodness, or a whisper of His nearness? Have I become so full of lesser things that I’ve numbed my appetite for the greatest One? In a world full of substitutes, it’s easy to settle. Easy to be moved by aroma but never follow the scent. But I want more. I want to desire God in such a way that I respond—not later, not when it’s convenient—but immediately, hungrily, like a soul in need of bread.
Later that evening, long after the craving had faded and I had returned to my usual routine, I sat quietly and thought: maybe this wasn’t about cookies at all. Maybe it was about the sacredness of longing. Maybe the scent was a kind of grace, a gentle reminder that I am not just a person who eats and moves and plans, but a soul with deep thirsts and holy hungers. Hungers that only God can satisfy.
And I realized something even more precious—that God is not indifferent to our desires. He made us with them. He understands them. He calls us through them. In Isaiah 55:1-2, He says, “Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters… Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?” This isn’t just a call to stop chasing the wrong things. It’s an invitation to come closer—to find in Him the sweetness we’ve been seeking elsewhere.
I didn’t buy the cookies that day. I stood for a moment, inhaled the air as if I could taste it, smiled, and walked on. It wasn’t a victory or defeat—it was a reflection. A sacred pause. And in that pause, I understood a little more about myself, my longing, and the gentle way God whispers to us even through something as ordinary as a scent.
Our daily desires, however small, can be doorways to holy moments if we let them. If we follow the longing rather than silence it, we may just find ourselves standing before the God who longs for us even more than we long for Him. And that is a desire worth yielding to.
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