Hey!

It’s been a while.  The past months, three to be exact, have been strange really.  So many times I have headed for the phone to punch in that number I dialed often, back then.  There’s been some stuff going on here at our house and some of it’s worth sharing and some of it just needs

Nano’s wise counsel.  It’s a loss when, after living  longer than half a century (I know, crazy) you’ve gotten advice from someone whose advice you value and then

just like that she isn’t there.  Gone forever.   Even so, my need for her to be alive is still right here where it’s always been.  Every now and then there’s this panic and I feel the blood rushing to my heart and I sort of want to yell or stomp my foot and change the whole thing.  The dying thing.  But I WANT to talk to my MOM.

Can’t!

She’s gone and she is beyond happy.  Ecstatic in fact.  She’s there rejoicing and living the life everlasting and here am I just needing to ask a few questions.  Her answers are the only ones that will do and that’s just too bad for me.  I’m learning to lean harder, heavier, on the one who knows me best.

It seems I’ve had Manna on my mind lately.  Just pops up.

There was this house we lived in when I was three, or thereabouts.  I do remember it even though it’s way back.    A lot of learning happens and gets remembered when little ones are Very little.

I’ve been going back over the memory and wondering if I made it up. It’s still there, lodged deep.  It’s true.  It happened.  There was a community of Portuguese immigrants  living shoulder to shoulder with a community of Italian immigrants.  They were nice people even though I couldn’t really understand what they were saying a lot of the time.  Well, somebody came up with a brilliant business venture.  They baked bread at their bakery or their house or someplace where there were ovens for bread baking and loaded it onto a little truck.  Crusty, hearty, fresh bread.  Round loaves and baguettes and white loaves and brown.  A man would drive through the neighbourhoods and ring his bell and people would go out to the street and buy fresh bread.  Now, the House family did not buy bread except maybe once or twice because why in the World would we buy bread when there were six fresh loaves cooling on the counter in our very own kitchen?  Oh how I longed to try the “bought” bread.  We can’t buy bread from neighbourhood trucks these days as far as I know and if we can I hope someone will tell me where because I want to go and look and maybe buy a loaf just for the sake of sweet memories.  Nevertheless, we have some good bakeries in this city where they make the very same kinds of bread that those clever people sold.  Crusty, yummy, old fashioned, bread for butter, or dipping into olive oil and balsamic.

Right up until Nano had no strength left to knead the dough, she was making bread.   Years ago when my little ones were actually little, when Nano would come to visit, she would be sure to have something baked for when they arrived home from school.

I’ll tell you what she said to me one day.  She said “when you can, when you’re able, you should try to have something nice and fresh for them when they come home at the end of the day”.  Oh yes she did.  She said exactly that and even though I sort of forget how her voice sounded even after this short time, I remember that.  She was as serious as serious ever is and I took it to heart and yes, there was often and is often something nice on the counter when my babes opened/open the door.  It’s no wonder my kitchen is a hive of activity.   Nano taught it.

The infamous “they” say it isn’t good for you to eat before bed.  I’d like to see “they” try to pull that one over on Nano and Papa. There’s a laugh.  You see, everybody had a snack before bed and we all had our own favourites.  I don’t remember all of them and not even my own.  My brother liked cereal and Nano and Papa

most nights except for, well I don’t even know when they didn’t and it’s really one of those memories I will not forget,

my dad would say

“Well honey”

I didn’t even know my mom had a name until I was about six, because he always called her honey.  She mostly called him the same.

Honey

“Well honey,  I’ll put the kettle on and I think we should have a piece of toast”.

And they did.  Every night, a piece of toast and a spoonful of jam and a cup of tea and they sat across the table from each other and wrapped up the day.  Sometimes I was already in bed and  was lulled to sleep by the smell of toast and the sound of their voices, gently bringing closure to one day and planning for the next.  A simple ritual shaped my concept of peace, protection, Love, provision.

Another memory I have is of my dad reenacting the story of Naaman who had to duck down into the water of the Jordan River seven times because he had leprosy and the prophet Elisha told him he had to do it if he wanted to be healed.  Papa always made sure I understood that it wasn’t the water that was doing the healing and it wasn’t the ducking either.  It was Naaman’s

obedience when it didn’t make any sense at all.  My dad was all about obedience and disobedience received the swiftest and harshest consequences.  I learned early, that obedience is not an option.  God requires it and so did my parents.

There were a lot of times in the Old Testament, the part before the Messiah arrived as a baby in a manger

when God told His people to do things they didn’t really understand because and for no other reason that He wanted them to obey.  It was after the obeying that He would show them why it was so important for them to do what He said.  It was for their good and always always and without fail, for His Glory.  Trouble was, they didn’t really get the whole obedience thing and liked to get themselves in deeper by taking things into their own hands.

So here we are, back at manna

God’s people were wandering around in the desert and they were pretty hungry.  They were worried about what was coming next and didn’t know how in the World any good would or could ever come of their predicament.  They actually told Moses that it would have been better to stay in captivity.  Good grief!

If only they had obeyed what God had told them to do…

So, because He loved them and wanted to help them, He gave them manna.  They ate it

for forty years.  I’m not kidding.  The very same thing every day for forty years.  I myself would be tempted to complain.

And the LORD said to Moses, “I have heard the grumbling of the people of Israel. Say to them, ‘At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall be filled with bread. Then you shall know that I am the LORD your God.’” (Exodus 16:11-12 ESV)

They weren’t allowed to store it up.  They received just what they needed and the next day they received what they needed and the next and on it went, for forty years.  Sometimes they decided to keep it for later and by morning  It was all wormy and rotten so they couldn’t eat it.  It’s one of the many stories of God’s provision for His loved ones.  He loved/loves.  He provided/provides.

But this command I gave them: ‘Obey my voice, and I will be your God, and you shall be my people. And walk in all the way that I command you, that it may be well with you.’ Jeremiah 7:23

Whether you’re  looking for comfort, remembering bygone days, caring for loved ones, enjoying the tastes you love,

or even wandering around in a desert of uncertainty, God’s eye is on you and his provision of nourishment is close.  It won’t work to gather up the abundance of today and save it for tomorrow.  Rest in what He offers today and trust that He will do what needs doing when the time it needs to be done arrives.

With every day’s concerns, will be just the right amount of sustenance for what He allows to touch you, that day.

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst. John 6:35