...Whilst chomping on the fatted calf, however, the illusion persists, that somehow it all will save us. That the flat screen TV and the Restoration Hardware couches and the hardwood floors will, really, truly be enough. God is our Plan B... He is the expected, the taken for granted. The water flowing effortlessly through our pipes. The electricity humming silently behind walls.In the eleventh hour, the walls of the sea parted, the path of safety appeared for the Israelites. Perched on the edge of financial ruin, will He do the same for us? He who could have kept Pharaoh's heart soft. He who could have kept us employed. He who could have opened the seawaters a week before.
The way out, the provision, comes cloaked. No pillar of fire meets us at the front door. Manna does not rain from heaven, nor water from rocks. But odd jobs appear. Meat goes on clearance. Costco sends a $400 rebate. We winter without a single doctor's visit. Donuts mysteriously appear on the front step. All things we are thankful for, but a question remains: If these physical provisions did not appear, would God still be our Jehovah Jirah, our Provider? How can I sit at my children's bedsides at twilight, hearing their sweet lisped prayers of absolute rock-solid confidence that God will take care of them without resorting to cynicism?
They, in their childlike faith, know the answer, and it is embarrassingly simple: He Himself is the provision. He will not leave us nor forsake us. Perhaps being removed from numbing abundance will be the very thing necessary for the adults in the family to seek the Giver rather than His gifts. For us to feast on Him, and for that feast, even in our time of deepest hunger, to fill us.
What this looks like I do not know exactly. But I suspect I will spend the rest of my life finding out.
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