It’s 7:00 PM and I haven’t eaten for several hours.  I’m working on getting my best suit to fit again.   The network evening news is finished and before I can find the remote I am under attack by Friendly’s restaurant.  Right there in front of me in glorious hi-definition color are three scrumptious slices of French toast layered in whipped cream.  Heaps of bright red strawberries dripping with vivid red syrup slowly dripping down the side of the toast are sensually placed in front of me.  Where is this company’s moral code?  Have they no sense of honor?  Can I not be safe in the sanctuary of my own home without being enticed beyond my mortal strength?  I am reacting like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
I will be the master of my own destiny.  The spirit is willing but the flesh is so weak.  Psalm 1:1 is playing itself out.  I am sitting in the seat of the hungry and I will not yield.   Not only will I not go to Friendly’s (only 2 miles away) I will not go to my fridge and stare inside. There is some fantastic left-over coleslaw and I shall not look.  Well, maybe just a taste.  And there it is – “Just a taste.”   One bite leads to a second bite and the game is over and I have lost. 
One would think my advanced years would have diminished my appetite.  Not so. I don’t want to be the master of self for that reason.  I want to with Paul, “offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.”   But I can’t.  And so I return to the only solution possible – rely on the inner working of the Holy Spirit.  It’s the only way.