The eyes of all wait upon thee; and thou givest them their meat in due season. Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing. Psalm 145:15-16
It occurred to me the other day that I’m running out of food in my pantry. When our self-isolation began, I thought it would be an interesting experiment to see how many days I could go without replenishing my larder. As the days have turned into weeks, I’ve realized my dance with scarcity brings me more stress than thrill. Rather than find it fun, my experiment has given me sobering insight into the real needs those around me endure. (Want to help? Give to your local food bank or join me in giving to World Vision as they work to alleviate food insecurity around the globe.)
These days it’s easy to be captured by a mindset of scarcity. Will I have enough toilet paper, enough food? Will I have the emotional and mental stamina for the long haul of quarantine? In grief too, I often wonder if I have what it takes to keep going every day. The days of parenting alone, living alone, can stretch out before me and overwhelm me. Sometimes when I look at my pantry and my inner reserves I’m not sure I’ll make it.
But then I am reminded that it is Jesus’ abundance on which I depend — not my own. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and He will care for me. All I have needed Thy hand hath provided. All Jesus asks is that I offer myself to Him in faith, that I place myself in His hands with all my attending fear and uncertainty and love and hope.
It is Jesus’ abundance on which I depend — not my own. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and He will care for me.
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I do not need great reserves of trust. He simply asks for whatever I have to give. Some days, I want to readily offer my whole heart. On others, my nervous leaning in toward Him is all I can give. The size of what I bring never matters. Like the small loaves and fishes, the little I have to offer will become much in His hands. In Jesus, there is no scarcity, only abundance. Abundance of grace. Of peace. Of forgiveness. Of love.
Like the small loaves and fishes, the little I have to offer will become much in His hands.
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I decided to end my little quarantine grocery experiment, and I went ahead and bought food. Even though it was only four paper bags worth, it felt like abundance when I put it on my kitchen island. Every day, at every meal, our family stops first to offer thanks for God’s provision. In want and or in plenty, in joy and in grief, our prayer is an act of trust. How much trust we can muster matters little. In whom we trust is matters most. As we simply offer Jesus what we have, we will find Him to be our Abundant One. The One who satisfies all of our needs beyond anything we could ask or imagine.