I used to think that praying for our daily bread was a quaint little notion perfect for a grandmother’s cross-stitching, but not something really necessary for my daily life. Of course, it’s easy to think that when you live in middle class America and your daily provisions are, on the whole, met with regularity. Growing up things may have been tight, but they were never tight to the point that we were sitting down to eat with no food on the table like the famous story of George Muller and God’s miraculous provision of breakfast for the 300 orphans under his care. (I have thought often of this incredible story ever since I first heard it over a decade ago.)
But when I became an adult, I also began to see the ways that God’s provision for my daily bread, might not only be about actual food. I think the bread in the Lord’s prayer can symbolize anything that we need for our daily life. Food, clothing, shelter—even sleep. (I bet you can guess which one I pray for most right now.) Seeing that the bread might be anything I need, has given a broader implication to the petition for “daily bread” in my prayer time and in our corporate praying of the Our Father. But here is something else I have discovered: like the Israelites in the wilderness, I am seldom content with daily bread.
I don’t want daily provision. I don’t want “just enough” grace for the moment. I want a huge, hoarding, stockpile of everything I need so I know I’ll never run out. I am those folks who ran out and tried to scoop extra manna up off the desert floor, more than enough for that day, only to discover that it didn’t keep. “How cruel to keep me in need!", I might think. “Why not allow me to gather in an abundance so that I can live off it comfortably for awhile?”
Instead, I keep needing. And God keeps providing. And somehow, I think that might be the actual point.
I remember when my second child was a tiny baby, I was really struggling to keep up with the constant needs of the two little people under my care. My oldest was just under two, my baby only a few weeks—and between the needs of the toddler, the infant, and my own needs for recovery after an unexpected c-section, I felt like I was drowning. I remember one day begging God to help me, and near the end of the day, yelling at him in tears: “I asked you to help me, and you didn’t!” And I can still hear his soft laughter, “You’re still here aren’t you?”
(Flash back to October 2015 with my tiny little boy. I can’t believe he’s turning 8 this year.)
In our home this past October and November for four/five weeks someone was fighting off something. Not Covid mind you, but some nasty cold that turned into a sinus infection in my husband. Then everyone got pink eye. I held everyone together, the last pillar of health in our home caring for all the sickies (night and day in case you forgot there are two babies involved in this equation) for two weeks until finally, I too succumbed. I didn’t get it as bad as my husband, but I got pink eye too. And then I had a weird ear infection/ringing in my left ear for two weeks. And just as I started to recover from that, I got mastitis. And all I could think was “seriously?” and “this is much too much.” And my prayers got really short and sassy if I prayed at all. And I cried a lot.
We ate manna, and drank water from the rock. And somedays I was filled with gratitude for the small mercies of more than two hours of sleep consecutively. But other days I just wanted to shout to the heavens, “it’s not ENOUGH!”
I’m longing for a feast. For a table set before me in the wilderness. For abundance. I know deep down I’m meant for it. I’ve even had moments of experiencing it here and now—moments I think of as experiencing the “goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.” And yet, Jesus is also trying to teach me to be content with the manna of his provision in the here and now of my life. The tension between the longing to be filled, the meeting of the need with manna, and the ache that still remains as I wait for the restoration of all things, feels hard to live with sometimes.
As human beings, we have to eat (ideally) a few times a day. We need several hours of sleep at night. During my pregnancy with the twins, I carried around a massive one gallon water bottle to make sure I was drinking enough. I drank 1.5 gallons each and every day—and no joke, it wasn’t even hard because I was that thirsty.
So here’s my theory: I think Jesus asks us to pray for our daily bread because he wants us to both acknowledge our finitude before the Father, while petitioning him for what we need.
Our daily needs make us human. And if you are like me, even reading that sentence might be grating to you depending on what sort of day you are having. If you are having a day (like I am) where you are kicking against the goads of your limitations, then being reminded that you are in fact a human may feel vaguely insulting. It’s okay. I understand. But I hope you can hear the goodness of this—
Our daily needs make us human. The Lord’s ability to meet all those needs makes him God.
Ooof. That’s one in the gut for a recovering control freak like myself. On both my best, and my worst days, this simple prayer has the potential to reorient my heart towards the goodness of the truth of who I am (a finite, needy human), and who God is (infinitely able to meet my needs both now and in eternity). We are the creatures. He is the creator. Sometimes we will have what feels like just enough. Manna in the desert. Shoes that don’t wear out. It doesn’t mean we won’t be exhausted by the 40 year trek. Other times, we will feast—the promised land opening itself to us with all the milk and honey our bellies can hold. What’s important to remember, is that he is with us in both of these pictures. He never stops being our provider God. and ultimately, we know our stories will end in incredible abundance because the God who has faithfully brought us this far says so.
These past two weeks have been a reminder of the fall with a GI bug making its way through almost all of the seven members of our house hold, then a weird achy fever bug plaguing my body and my babies bodies keeping us all awake and restless for nights on end. Two nights ago I was feeding my 19 month old daughter a graham cracker at 1 am, staring at a half moon, and wondering what the provision for *this moment* was going to be like. How would it look? Was it going to be enough? And perhaps more importantly, I began asking myself, when the provision comes—will I recognize it?
The truth is that God is always providing. It is also true that I do not always see his provision. My attention span is short. I’m incredibly forgetful. And sometimes I find myself longing for the figs of Egypt. But God is too good to give me lesser things. Instead, he feeds me with the truth of my neediness, and the depths of his providential love. And for each day, it is enough.
(For some encouraging scripture on this topic, check out Deuteronomy 8.)
Oh my Grace, I’m not sure if I can even remember all the words you’ve written that have burrowed their way deep into my spirit. Before I go any further, please take the time to listen to the version of “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” by Carrie Underwood and Ce Ce Wynans. There isn’t a time that I listen to this song and the lyrics “all I have needed Thy hand hath provided” seem louder than the rest of the song. All I have needed. There isn’t a time in my life that my needs weren’t met. And yet I grouse about. And I was taken aback by the words “kicking against the goads.” My man used to speak of that and it was actually a gentle memory. Your wisdom astounds me. I am amazed at your ability to describe and help the reader to understand what you have been through and how God has guided you. You remind me of the grace that is provided daily. Thank you Grace for your willingness to be open and bare yourself with such freedom. As always, grateful. Susan 🙏🏻🕯🕊❤️🩹🤍💚
Phew! An absolute word! You're doing it...writing from the trenches. Thank you!!