I think I’m beginning to understand manna. Give us this day our daily bread.
It’s not just having a houseful of hungry boys, although that’s something, to be sure. Almost every day there’s a trip to the store to stock back up on somebody’s favorite something. Food and security go hand in hand, and a bowlful of grapes can be love. Once a week I load up at Costco. Milk, juice, meats, cheese, snacks. All jumbo size. And lots of eggs – a staple in Colombia, scrambled to order every morning in my Minnesota kitchen. One likes eggs plain, another with ham, and one boy eats his with hotdogs. Shoveled down fast by teens on the run, and who even takes time to notice all that made-to-order care? But oh well. From mom, with love.
Fruit purchases are made every couple of days, from the nearest grocery, and not at Costco anymore. Enormous quantities were being consumed in single sittings, which can’t be good for digestion or budget. So now I bring home just enough. Give us this day our daily bread, and our daily peaches when they’re in season.
But it’s not just bread, or fruit. This manna provision is something more. It’s a way of living, and I’m starting to see it. And maybe it makes more sense in the desert. Desperate. Please, God, bring the manna today.
It’s His provision. All of it. The little graces. Moments of laughter. Homework finished. A new friend. The first hit ever in a baseball game. Man-talk at bedtime. Manna. God provides.
Over the weekend we hit a rough patch. Again. And as I dealt with stubborn boys, fighting back my own emotion, this thought, as clear as clear, crossed my mind. Today this is your manna. What, this? No wonder the people complained. But I knew it was true because the peace settled in from my head to my toes. And, yes. This indeed was daily bread. A chance for Mom to divvy grace. Like manna. And it worked. They ate it right up, and it nourished us all.
Thanks, God, for the manna.
Some days we try to gather ahead. Stash a little manna aside. We worry and fret over things to come. Try to reckon tomorrow today. Stressing over summer boredom while it’s still spring. Anxious thoughts over schoolwork two grades away. And math. It’s always math. At our kitchen table, and our bank account, too. The dentist wants a sum close to five digits to fix a lifetime of neglected teeth. Out of pocket, and we don’t have it. Yet.
Give us this day our daily bread. Today. And we’ll trust you.
There’s wisdom in this daily rhythm. Seeking provision for just today. Taking note and paying attention. Not wanting to miss it when it comes.
And it always comes, this manna. Never have we been forsaken.
I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread (Psalm 37:25).