Blog

Around the globe, more than 690 million people go hungry every day, and yet we grow enough food to meet the needs of every man, woman and child in the world. There exists an abundance of food, but a paucity of the will to change this equation. We are the feeding of the 5,000 in reverse – we have baskets full of food, but it goes to a small number of people.

The prophet Isaiah laments, “Why spend your money on what is not bread; your wages for what does not satisfy?” (Isaiah 55:2 NIV) As a culture, our wealth is spent on so many things that are not bread: gambling, sporting events, alcohol, tobacco and other drugs, fancy clothes and cars, the latest gadgets, smartwear, home décor… the list goes on. God has blessed this world with an abundance and invites us, like Jesus to his apostles, to give of what we have to others. Yet we parcel out in small doses and hoard in great amounts.

How does God lift you up, when the only thing you are able to see is a real and present danger to your family? This pandemic strikes at the very heart of my “mother bear” instincts. Since my 20-year-old daughter has an underlying medical condition that puts her at risk, I’ve been pretty ramped up. The thought of Rebecca getting seriously ill and having to go into the hospital (where I could not go with her) has really taken hold and put fear into my heart. This week, when my husband developed symptoms after being exposed to Covid 19 and was so sick, my fear multiplied. Like a roaring river, I was almost swept away with worry and anxiety. I actually thought, “maybe I’ve been worrying about the wrong family member,” which is so me – as if I had the actual power to keep someone safe by worrying. We quarantined my husband in our bedroom while we waited for him to be tested and get the results. When Rebecca started in with a fever, you can imagine my reaction. It was one of those middle of the night worry sessions that can be so painful. Waiting for test results that would tell me if they were going to be seriously ill was so frightening.

So, I began to pray, asking Jesus to be with me and calm me down.  I was reminded of the time in Gethsemane when Jesus wanted his friends to stay awake and be with him. 

Earlier this week, one of my good friends was talking with me about some struggles she’s been having with worry.  She said she has begun starting out her day with the phrase “Right now I am okay.  I have everything I need in this moment.”   How many of us need this gentle reminder that we are safe, that we are okay, that we are protected?  As I prayed about this idea of being present in the moment, a different perspective emerged for me.  The emphasis went from one of being in the present moment, to realizing who was in the present moment with me. 

I was one of those kids who started out early discovering a love of music.  My sisters and I used to listen to my mother’s old records – ancient as they were - and have loads of fun. The three of us would shut the door to our playroom, put on her old and scratched Chubby Checker album and do the twist, laughing and singing along as we danced.  Sometimes we’d even choreograph our own little shows to my grandmother’s favorite guy, Lawrence Welk.  If I had to describe our type of musical play, it was nothing short of joyful…

It seems like just yesterday, I was a little girl, crying at the top of the stairs, in need of a little comfort.  One of my earliest memories was a time when I thought I’d gotten too big to have my mother rock me to sleep.  I remember crying at the top of the stairs after being put to bed, and my mother coming to me and asking what was wrong.  When I told her that I was sad that I was too big to rock, she said, “Of course you’re not.” She scooped me up and carried me down the stairs and went right to the old rocker in our living room.  There was a soft light on, and all was quiet in the house.  I snuggled right in, and she hummed a little song to me, and the whole world fell away, in a moment so peaceful, comforting and beautiful, that it lives within me, as a quiet space to go to when the world seems to be moving too fast.