Day 3- Breath not Bread

The day begins with a two year old squeaking in my ear, asking permission to be hoisted into our bed: “up mama, up!”

So I roll over, position my hands under his shoulders and place him squarely in the middle, where he hones in on my pillow space before slowly finding sleep once again.

Usually this process wakes me up and I roll out of bed with the sleep that I’ve managed, happily alone to start the day. I find my robe, move down the hallway, start the teapot and inspect the contents of the cupboard and fridge, weighing our breakfast options.

Do we have eggs today or will it be another oatmeal morning?

Are the cupboards looking bare or is today one flush with choices?

Will this morning be luxurious or simple sustenance?


This is the routine of feeding families, you get what you can manage and then set it on the table as a feat and a feast.  Each meal something to get excited about, to celebrate.

Because it is worth celebrating, another morning of “just enough” to fill bellies and send them on their way nourished.

Not only enough on the table, but enough in my heart, enough sleep and sanity to fix food in love instead of view it as another morning of rote annoyance.

We truly do serve a God of daily bread, who is interested in the daily work of provision, lest we get arrogant and think we’re the ones behind the eggs and oatmeal.

There will be seasons where the thing we need most, is the thing that is absolutely uncertain from day to day, breath to breath.

We were never guaranteed full storehouses across the board, it would only serve to separate us from the love we need to thrive.  

Because to thrive, we have to live in the right here, to realize that “daily bread” is more than a prayer, it’s a way to live.

We were never guaranteed a dozen eggs every time we open the refrigerator.
Never assured a full emergency fund or tank of gas.
There were no guarantees that we’d have enough time to fold all the laundry… or enough jeans to get through the week without doing it all over again.

The “always flush, care-free, sustained life” is a total illusion.

We are all running low in certain areas, all prone to anxiety in one way or another.

If we spend our lives always waiting for things to be guaranteed, for the store houses to overflow we will be tarried permanently.

We’re all low in some areas, all living breath to breath in one way or another.

Maybe it’s sanity, romance, money, eggs or gas.
Maybe it’s straight up cash
Maybe it’s patience or the gumption to do it all over again.

Not all our cups runneth over.

We’d like to hoard and store and consider ourselves all set and self-reliant, but it wouldn’t serve us well in the end.

We need to cling, to remain, to whisper hourly prayers for supplication that seems beyond hope and possibility.  (I’m preaching to myself)

This is why Jesus taught us to pray “give us this day our daily bread”

It’s not about bread, it’s about breath and the strength to go on in a world that seems to take more than we have in every conceivable way.

Christ knew, he came, he saw, he felt the tug and the pain and the reality of fallen earth.

So he gave us this prayer: “Lord, please, enough for today?”

And it comes, somehow it always comes, even when it looks like rock bottom and we fall to our knees, I have learned that in one way or another, daily bread is on it’s way.

sometimes small, often unexpected but it’s here.

Greed is hoarding manna, but freedom comes in the hands that gather and ask in the now.

Who gather and give thanks for their rosebuds while they may.

There is a sacredness that comes from going to the pantry morning after sleepy morning and breathing a prayer of thanks for the strength, sweetness, coffee and oatmeal needed for here.

The more we enter in to this prayer, this sacred rhythm, the more alive we become.

Less self-reliant and more God-expectant, steeped in peace.


I’m spending the month of October writing for 31 Days on the concept of “here.”  Sign up right here to receive these posts in your inbox.

Apple by Apple

Today I’m blending the pictures and poetry of our trip with to the orchard with the Burden Family into a prayer for autumn.  All photos compliments of my lovely and dear friend Jillian Burden.  

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Like any good Michigander, I can measure my years by trips to the apple orchard.

I can still remember with vivd clarity my kindergarden trip to the pumpkin patch and cider mill.  After wandering the fields of orange and green we were rewarded by a warm donut and fresh pressed cider as we squeezed together on the picnic tables.

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There is nothing in the world like a cake donut with fresh pressed cider, If you love it, you know it’s a comfort food born early.

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Trips to the orchard ring altogether wholesome, holding hands while crunching apples and leaves as you fill heap your wagon full of fruit.

Screen Shot 2013-09-19 at 9.47.48 AM Continue reading