I crave my mother’s home made cinnamon rolls. The very thought of them makes my mouth water and stimulates my physical desires. I can almost taste the soft, warm dough rolled with cinnamon and sugar topped with that rich, gooey brown sugar frosting. Add a big slab of rich, creamy butter that melts across the top and drips down into the sweet, dark crevices and I can’t help myself. I look forward to the holidays each year when my mother cooks a giant batch of them for the family. I enter into my parent’s home and immediately start looking for the cinnamon rolls. It’s become a bit of a family joke, really. I can’t get enough.
I hear craving in David’s song today. He has more than just a passing appetite for God’s presence, he craves God’s presence like I crave my mom’s cinnamon rolls. He can’t get enough. I have to ask myself if I have that kind of appetite for God. Do I hunger after God with the same intensity of desire?
The object(s) of my appetite(s) says a lot about the condition of my heart.