Give us this day our daily bread.
“We don’t want just our daily bread,” a friend said, adding to my thoughts. “We want that, plus an extra loaf or two to throw in the freezer.”
Ah, the security of the freezer bread. Maybe that’s the thing we work for when what we need is what we have in front of us on the counter. And what’s in front of us is enough for today.
I think of provision—having what I need when I need it. And I discover bread is much more than the baked dough you find in cellophane at the grocery store.
My weekly blog has chugged along for almost eight years now, and it's taught me a thing or two about daily bread. At first, writing ideas came easy. I had a huge store of them in my creative freezer. Often, though, my supply dwindles. And I fear I don’t have enough to offer my people.
But in the quiet each morning with My Portion, a crumb comes in.
I chew on it, savoring it, and find it’s a mouthful. Soon, it fills my stomach. Wait. I actually have enough for me and enough to feed others who come to meet with me.
I love art but celebrate the beauty of a blank wall too. Behind the dining room table is a twelve-foot-tall expanse that’s still empty. You can’t see it yet, but a plan already lives there. Husband and Flicka conceived the idea for a huge painting for the space, its massive frame made from crown molding. In a small font, Husband will paint the following words in the center of the canvas:
“Have the people sit down.” Jesus
And it’s all about the miracle that follows that invitation—the fives loaves, the two fish, the feeding of the five thousand, the twelve baskets of leftovers, the more than enough—a miracle in the hands of The Bread of Life Himself.
I call this blog installment Part 1, knowing full well I don’t have Part 2 yet. But there will be a crumb for next week that turns into a mouthful that’s enough to fill a stomach. And we'll eat together again.
Give us this day our daily bread.
*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.