God loves me, I think. I love Him. Why this strange disconnect?
My mind drifts past the rows of strangers and friends to my sense of inadequacy as I serve. I have spent this past week barely keeping myself afloat, longing to reach out to others yet feeling inept to do much more than survive. A medical issue, a stolen purse, the harried, unscheduled feeling of the first weeks of summer -- they've all combined to create a confounding sense of confusion. Each night, I've fallen into bed with my heart and my prayers reaching out to the many dear ones I love -- ones who, yet again, I have failed. No cards. No calls. No flowers or meals or visits or ....
Back in church, my face falls. All my efforts at service seem so feeble! I listen, feeling numb, as Pastor Tom starts his message. He's describing the ministry to widows that takes shape Acts 6, and I sigh. Another reminder of my failure. I hear sweet words of truth about these ministering disciples, but applying them to my situation seems like a stretch.
"They were chosen to hand out bread," pastor Tom says, "because they understood that only God held an unfailing supply. Their ability to return to Him for provision helped them meet physical needs as well as spiritual: It paved the way for more ministry."
I jot these words in my journal before church winds down. I'm still mulling them over later that afternoon as I struggle to prepare for small group. I feel tapped out already, and although my husband has offered to clean the house, I'm still tense. Why can't I help more? I wonder while I sit still. Why don't I have more desire?
Befuddled, I turn to 2 Corinthians 8, my Bible chapter for today. Here, Paul describes the early church's patterns of giving. I stiffen in preparation for more feelings of guilt, but the words provide peace, not provocation.
"For if there is first a willing mind, it is accepted according to what one has, and not according to what he does not have. For I do not mean that others should be eased and you burdened; but ... equality."
Immediately, my spirit settles. This grace! It's so rich! Rather than condemning me when my stores run this low, God promises to provide me with enough bounty to share with an eager heart.
My thoughts swirl around the picture of God as our limitless Supplier. There's no doubt: He will refill the baskets of all who ask -- and yes, I have been asking. But it dawns on me now that I have felt empty because I've expected a particular form of bounty to appear in my hands. Physical ability, perhaps. Extra energy. Genuine service as I've defined it for years. My face burns as I realize the truth: When His provision didn't mesh with my plans, I rejected it. Now, in a flood, my mind stirs up memories of the "bread" with which he has filled my spiritual basket for the past few years. My sweet quiet times. My aching for those who ache, too. My outpouring of creative energy and my deep desire to create more. This "bread," I realize, doesn't look like the "bread" I'm accustomed to receive or hand out to others. But it's God's provision, too.
Completely floored by this thought, I inhale a deep breath of new life, of hope. At last, I'm aware of the bounty God's bestowed upon me for His glory. This bounty lies heaped up around me, rich provision that easily overflows into a desire to share it with others.
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