Stretch for More: Max, the Table, and Our Spiritual Appetite

Stretch for More: Max, the Table, and Our Spiritual Appetite

I live with a little red Boston Terrier named Max. Now, if you’ve ever met Max, you’ll know that he’s full of energy from the minute his eyes open to the minute they reluctantly close—usually after he’s found that one last squeaky toy to terrorize in the middle of the night. He’s got this boundless joy packed into his short, bouncy frame, like someone crammed a kangaroo and a comedian into a single dog body.

But let me tell you Max’s truest passion, the one pursuit that drives his every move, breath, and bounce.

Food.

The guy loves food. Honestly, I think he may love it more than me—and I love food more than a day off and a warm cinnamon bun.

Whenever I’m preparing something in the kitchen—whether it’s breakfast, a snack, or even just cutting up celery—Max is there. Always. His eyes wide, ears perked, tail wagging, standing on his hind legs and stretching as tall as his little body will allow. You can feel the hope pulsing out of him: “Maybe this time… maybe I’ll get a bite.”

What makes it funny, and kind of sweet, is this little glimmer of anxiety in his eyes—like maybe this time I’ll forget him. Maybe I won’t drop something, maybe he won’t get that piece of cheese, maybe this is the day he gets skipped.

But he always gets a bite.

Always.

He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m never going to let him go without. I love him too much. I get more joy watching him eat that tiny piece of carrot than I do eating the full steak myself. There’s something about his enthusiasm, his expectancy, that turns the whole moment into something bigger.

And it got me thinking—maybe that’s how God looks at us.

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A Mirror in the Kitchen

That image of Max stretching, reaching, hopeful but not fully confident he’ll be fed—it’s more familiar than I’d like to admit. How many times have I stood metaphorically on my hind legs, heart outstretched, wondering if God will show up again? Will I get what I need today? Will He remember me?

Of course He will.

We know that. But sometimes our spiritual hunger clouds our memory. The truth is, just like I’ve never let Max go without, God never lets us go hungry when we reach for Him. He delights in feeding us.

This kind of spiritual hunger—it’s not a sign of weakness. It’s the healthiest sign of a growing believer. That stretch, that longing, that reaching for more? That’s where transformation happens. That’s where the soul is fed.

But here’s the best part: Jesus is the only provider who never runs out. The more we stretch, the more He supplies. The more we ask, the more He gives. The more we hunger, the more He satisfies.

And like the story of the loaves and fishes, His supply is not just enough—it’s abundant.

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The Loaves and the Leftovers

You know the story. It’s found in all four Gospels, but I always go back to John 6. The people are hungry. The disciples are stressed. They only have five barley loaves and two fish. But Jesus isn’t panicked. He tells everyone to sit down.

“Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish.”
(John 6:11, NIV)

As much as they wanted.

And after everyone had eaten, there were twelve baskets left over. Not just enough. More than enough.

Let that sink in: when Jesus feeds you, there will be leftovers.

We live in a world obsessed with scarcity. Not enough time, not enough money, not enough energy. But in the Kingdom, there is always enough when we are fed by Him. His Word, His presence, His Spirit—these things don’t diminish when shared. They multiply.

So why are we afraid to stretch? Why are we hesitant to approach the table?

Maybe we’ve been burned before. Maybe our hunger’s been used against us. Maybe the world gave us crumbs and told us it was a feast.

But that’s not Jesus.

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The Manna in the Wilderness

Let’s rewind to the Old Testament for a moment. Exodus 16 tells the story of the Israelites wandering in the desert. They’re tired, hot, cranky—and most of all—hungry.

So what does God do? He rains down bread from heaven. Manna. Every morning, it covers the ground like dew.

“The people of Israel called the bread manna. It was white like coriander seed and tasted like wafers made with honey.”
(Exodus 16:31, NIV)

Now, here’s the part that gets me: they had to collect it fresh every day. They couldn’t store it (except before the Sabbath). If they tried to hoard it, it spoiled. God was teaching them to trust that He would always provide.

Daily.

Isn’t that the picture of faith?

God doesn’t offer Costco-sized spiritual packages to get you through the month. He offers daily bread. Fresh mercies. A new filling every morning.

But like Max in the kitchen, we’ve got to show up. We’ve got to stretch. We’ve got to reach.

Because it’s there. The food is on the table. We just need the appetite—and the faith—to believe we’ll be fed.

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Three Ways to Partake of the Spiritual Food

Now if you’ve ever gone to a potluck, you know there are two kinds of people: those who wait politely at the back of the line and those who grab a plate and head to the front like they’ve just heard their name called at a wedding. I’m not saying one’s better than the other—but I do know you’ve got to get in line if you want to eat.

So how do we “get in line” spiritually? How do we partake of the food God has so graciously prepared for us?

1. Feed Daily on the Word

Let’s not overcomplicate it. The Bible is food. Not a rulebook. Not a boring textbook. It’s food for your soul. You can’t grow without it.

Jeremiah got it right when he said:

“When your words came, I ate them; they were my joy and my heart’s delight.”
(Jeremiah 15:16, NIV)

Eat the Word. Chew on it. Let it nourish your thinking, your speech, your actions. One verse a day with an open heart will do more for your soul than ten chapters with a closed one.

And like Max—who never misses a kitchen visit—we need to show up expectantly. Because God is always cooking something.

2. Stretch in Prayer and Surrender

Prayer isn’t just about asking—it’s about stretching. Reaching. Aligning. It’s the act of standing on your spiritual tiptoes and saying, “I want what You have for me, Lord.”

Jesus taught us to pray for “daily bread”—not monthly plans or quarterly goals. Just today’s nourishment.

And in the stretching, we surrender. We say, “God, I trust You to feed me. I trust You know what I need more than I do.”

Even Jesus prayed in the garden, stretched beyond comfort, reaching for God’s will over His own. That’s the model. That’s the feast.

3. Gather at the Table With Others

We are not meant to dine alone. Some of the richest meals I’ve ever had—both physical and spiritual—were shared.

That’s why community matters. Church matters. Fellowship matters. Iron sharpens iron, and bread multiplies when we break it together.

Acts 2:46 says:

“Every day they continued to meet together… They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.”

If your spiritual diet is weak, maybe it’s because you’ve been trying to eat alone. Sit with others. Share the table. Bring your brokenness, your appetite, your humility.

When the Appetite Fades: Recognizing Spiritual Starvation

Sometimes, the hunger fades.

We’ve all been there. A dry season. A tired stretch. A week where reading your Bible feels like reading an instruction manual for an appliance you don’t own. A month where prayer feels like talking into a tin can with no one on the other end. A season where church feels more like obligation than celebration.

Even Max, my little food-obsessed Boston Terrier, has his off moments. Sometimes, he gets distracted. A noise outside. A toy in the corner. And just for a moment, he forgets about the kitchen. But as soon as the scent of dinner hits the air—he’s back, stretching, eyes wide, paws dancing.

We’re the same. The hunger never really goes away. It just gets distracted, buried, dulled. The spiritual appetite is there; it just needs to be awakened again.

And let me say this clearly: you are not broken because you’ve lost your appetite. You are human. But what you do in those moments matters.

Do you sit back and accept starvation?

Or do you return to the table—even if it’s just to nibble?

God is patient. The bread is still warm. The table is still set.

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The Risk of Spiritual Snacking

One of the most dangerous things isn’t losing your hunger completely—it’s substituting real food for spiritual snacks.

We live in a culture of spiritual junk food. Quick-fix faith. Instagram devotions. Motivational memes. Catchy quotes with no depth. A sugar rush for your soul, followed by a crash of confusion and emptiness.

Let me be clear: a good quote can encourage. A short devotional can bless. But those things were never meant to be the full meal.

If Max tried to live off crumbs under the table, he’d get by… but he’d be missing out on the richness of what’s actually on the plate.

And we do the same thing when we rely on secondhand faith. We need the full Word. The depth of prayer. The nourishment of worship. The sharpening of community. The feeding of our soul that only comes from the source Himself—Jesus.

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Jesus: The Bread That Satisfies

Jesus doesn’t hide His identity. He tells us straight up in John 6:35:

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Never go hungry. Never thirst again.

This isn’t metaphorical comfort food. This is soul satisfaction. Eternal fulfillment. Not a snack to hold us over, but a feast that transforms.

In the Old Testament, the Israelites were fed with manna. In the New Testament, we’re invited to feed on Jesus Himself—not in a mystical way, but in a spiritual sense that says: “Everything I need is in Him.”

He is the Word made flesh. The provider. The feast. The fulfillment of every longing.

And He doesn’t ration out grace. He doesn’t run out of mercy. He doesn’t tell you, “That’s enough for today, come back next week.” No, He says: Come to Me, all who are weary… and I will give you rest.

Or in our case: Come to Me, all who are hungry… and I will feed your soul.

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Stretching Isn’t Striving

There’s a difference between stretching and striving. One is healthy. The other is exhausting.

Max stretches not out of performance—but out of expectation. He knows the food is coming. He’s not begging to earn it. He’s reaching to receive it.

We need to be careful we don’t fall into striving for God’s love—as if our stretching makes us more worthy. The Gospel is clear: we don’t earn the food. We’re simply invited to the table.

Ephesians 2:8-9 reminds us:

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.”

Your hunger honors God—not because you’ve “earned” a seat, but because it shows your heart is open to being filled.

Let’s not confuse reaching with earning. Let your stretch be one of surrender, not striving.

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A Full Church, A Full Table

Now let’s loop back to church. The Easter service. The overflowing pews. The half-joked comment about “pretend Christians.”

Can I be honest?

When the church is full, it’s a snapshot of heaven. It’s a sign that people—regardless of their past, their frequency, or their knowledge—are reaching. Stretching. Showing up.

And if they stretch, God will feed them.

It’s not our job to analyze motives. It’s our job to make sure the table is ready. That there’s room. That there’s warmth. That the people we welcome smell bread, not judgment.

Jesus told the parable of the great banquet in Luke 14. The invited guests made excuses, so the master sent his servant out:

“‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.’ … Then the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full.’”
(Luke 14:21, 23)

So that my house will be full.

Jesus wants a full house. A full table. A full church.

And He’ll provide the food. We just have to open the doors.

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Final Encouragement: The Stretch Is Worth It

Max teaches me more than I care to admit.

His stretch is funny, desperate, endearing—but above all, it’s consistent.

He shows up. He watches. He reaches. He receives.

Can we live like that?

Can we stretch in faith, believing that what’s on the table is for us? That our Father delights in giving? That spiritual hunger is not something to hide but something to embrace?

Because here’s the truth: Jesus always feeds the hungry.

He never ran out with the five thousand. He never withheld from the woman at the well. He never denied the sinner who cried out for mercy.

And He won’t start with you.

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Summary: 3 Ways to Keep Feasting

Let’s wrap this up the way I started—simple and grounded. Max doesn’t need a theological dissertation. He just needs the smell of food to know it’s coming.

We can keep it simple too:

1. Feed Daily

Not when you feel like it. Daily. One verse. One prayer. One stretch. It adds up. It builds strength. It wakes up the appetite.

2. Stretch in Surrender

Reach with open hands, not clenched fists. Let go of what you’re trying to control. Your posture of hunger is a sign of trust.

3. Stay at the Table

Don’t eat alone. Join the body. Find fellowship. Sit with others. Let their stories sharpen your own, and let your hunger stir theirs.

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Final Thought

Max will never stop stretching for food. And I’ll never stop giving it to him. Not because he’s earned it—but because I love him. Because I delight in seeing him filled.

And if I—a flawed human—can love a little dog that much, imagine how much more your heavenly Father loves you.

So stretch.

Reach.

Trust.

The bread is on the table. And it’s for you.