What I Learned from Fasting for the First Time at Forty
At forty, my prayer life had become crowded. Calendar invitations, school runs, work messages and the background hum of Australian family life filled the spaces where reflection used to sit. I still prayed, but my prayers often sounded like reports: what I had achieved, what I needed next and how others were doing. I had prayed about fasting for years without trying it. This time, I chose a one-day fast.
I began before sunrise with water and a quiet room. I had bought bread, eggs, vegetables and soup the day before so hunger would not become a scramble through a supermarket aisle. The fast meant no food from sunrise until sunset, but it was not an attempt to impress anyone. I set aside my phone, chose a psalm and asked God to reshape my attention.
By midmorning, hunger was loud. It made ordinary things feel significant: the smell of coffee, a biscuit in the pantry, a lunch order arriving nearby. I discovered that a bodily need can resemble spiritual conviction. More than once, I nearly ended the fast early and called that failure. Instead, I prayed, walked and let the discomfort expose the motives beneath my plans.
By evening, I had not received a dramatic revelation. I felt lighter, attentive and surprised by my own restlessness. The lasting change began much earlier than a spiritual high. It started when I admitted that control, recognition and comfort shaped my prayers. Fasting became less about performing obedience and more about making room for trust, confession and a steadier response to God.
Preparing the Heart at Forty
My first fast had an appointment, but no audience. I chose a Wednesday because my working week was lighter and my family knew where I would be. This mattered: a secret vow can gather power precisely because no one is watching. Naming the day to my household turned a private ambition into an ordinary, accountable plan.
Beforehand, I wrote three sentences on an index card: “Give me room to listen. Show me what I am avoiding. Help me obey what is already clear.” I also admitted that I expected clarity, a decision and perhaps proof that God had endorsed me. The card redirected my attention without pretending I had reached the end of myself. It gave the day a simple direction and replaced a private performance with an open question.
Hunger, Noise, and Honest Prayer
At first, I treated hunger as an obstacle to prayer. Soon, it became a clock. Each physical pang prompted a mental question, and each answer exposed something I had been managing all week. I began praying less like a competent presenter and more like a son who needed his Father’s attention.
A resource on persistent prayer keys connected Jesus’ parable of the widow and the unjust judge with the discipline of continuing to ask. It corrected a lazy assumption: persistence is not demanding that God rearrange the plan. It is refusing to abandon dependence while the answer remains unseen.
During the day, I prayed for patience with a colleague and forgiveness for my sharp words. I also thanked God for bread, a safe home and the ordinary provision I usually overlooked. These prayers lacked eloquence, yet they were more honest than the tidy petitions I had offered while my stomach was full.
Scripture, Surrender, and Small Obedience
I reread the accounts of Jesus in the wilderness and the early church in Acts. Before my fast, those stories had felt like ancient instructions for exceptional people. During it, they became a pattern of dependence: in the wilderness, Jesus was sustained not by impressive resolve but by God. Reading beside an empty cupboard sharpened my imagination.
Fasting also stripped away my usual distractions. Without a lunch break or a screen to scroll, my mind tried to recreate the comfort it had lost. A walk around the block helped. So did naming the temptation to control people and outcomes. The central surrender was small and practical: I asked for a quieter spirit and received an inconvenient verse about pride. Instead of bargaining for a smoother experience, I read it twice and wrote beside it. The fast was becoming a school of obedience rather than a transaction with guaranteed results.
Community, Bread, and Shared Faith
I broke the fast with bread and soup while my family sat around the table. The meal was ordinary, but its taste carried more attention than any restaurant dinner I could remember. Breaking bread connected my private resolve with Christian imagery of provision, gratitude and a table meant for others.
Reach Out Columbia, based in South Carolina, showed me that a testimony can travel well beyond the room where it began. Its advertising information page describes how organisations can help support and distribute the magazine. The point was not promotional reach for its own sake; it was a reminder that Christian encouragement can travel through partnerships, local churches, homes and shared conviction.
Healthy Boundaries and Humble Limits
A first fasting experience should never become reckless. I was fortunate that no medical condition or medication schedule complicated my day, and I could hydrate safely. People with diabetes, pregnancy, a history of disordered eating or other medical concerns should speak with a qualified clinician before extending a fast. Wisdom is part of spiritual maturity.
I also learned that a fast should not become a measure of spiritual seriousness. Hunger does not guarantee insight, and a long absence from food does not earn a deeper answer from God. I kept the period short, drank water and broke it with familiar food rather than turning the experience into a spectacle.
Fasting can sharpen love, but it can also make a person self-righteous. That risk increased whenever I began comparing my sacrifice with someone else’s apparent ease. I tried to pair the hunger with attention to people beyond my own convenience. A practice that makes us kinder is closer to the gospel than one that makes us smaller.
Fasting in an Australian Week
In Melbourne, fasting collided with the tram, a flat white and the office lunch order. The city runs on convenient rhythms, and a fast interrupts them visibly. Riding to work without breakfast made the first hours feel longer. It also made the eventual meal far more meaningful.
At Coles or Woolworths, the local supermarket rhythm shapes many Australian households. Supermarket specials, tubs of soup and mixed grains make a short fast manageable, but they can also encourage neat control. Buying food in advance helped me resist bargaining with my hunger beside the frozen aisle.
Sydney offered a different challenge. Summer heat can make a daylight fast uncomfortable, while local churches gather people from varied backgrounds. A shared spiritual practice still needs thoughtful pastoral care rather than one-size-fits-all rules, especially when age, health and work circumstances differ.
Australia’s Fair Work Act 2009 includes a federal right to disconnect for eligible employees in covered businesses from 26 June 2025, with employers of 15 to 25 workers covered from 6 July 2025. It concerns work communications, not all duties. A fasting plan may support protected personal time, but it does not cancel reasonable workplace obligations.
A Grounded Practice for the Next Fast
What I carry forward is modest but useful. Before beginning, I now use these safeguards:
- Choose a defined window, such as 12 or 24 hours, and decide exactly what it includes.
- Eat a nourishing meal beforehand rather than postponing food until the final hour.
- Tell anyone who needs to know, especially if medication, exercise or work schedules may be affected.
- Set one simple prayer focus rather than trying to solve an entire spiritual problem in a day.
During the day, these simple habits helped:
- Drink water steadily and choose an ordinary pace of movement, avoiding strenuous exercise.
- Write down prayers of confession and gratitude when the mind becomes noisy.
- When hunger returns, name the desire beneath it: fear, approval, comfort or control.
- Break the fast gently with familiar food, eat slowly and give thanks.
A checklist cannot predict every season of need. Still, the pattern held: prepare, simplify, pray, discern and eat with gratitude. The food mattered less than the space it made. When I stopped trying to control every appetite, I noticed how often control had been my way of avoiding uncertainty.
The fast did not remove my desire; it gave me enough room to see it and hand it to God. My lasting lesson was practical: create a little space, surrender what fills it, then return to ordinary life with a calmer heart, clearer priorities and a meal received as gift.
