Last month was absolutely crazy. The time spent together as a family was few and far between. Our budget went haywire, and what should have been spent on food was spent on other necessities (like gas).
It wasn’t like we were destitute. Oh, heavens, no.
With half of a cow in our freezer, it was impossible to be destitute. When we run short on our food budget and just”eat what we have” we spend a week eating steak and pot roast. Hardly a sacrifice.
But what about the other stuff? Milk, eggs, bread…
At the end of June, we went to a resort as a family. We spent our food budget on food for the weekend. It’s amazing how much more you have to spend on food to have it ready-made. As a result, we came home and had to eat what we had eaten at the resort.
We had bought 2 loaves of white sandwich bread… you know the kind. It’s flimsy and fake-tasting. I set in on the counter, fully aware of the busy week ahead of me.
We used half of the one loaf we had left.
Before leaving for Girl’s Camp, I looked at the loaf. I knew it would mold. It was monsoon season. We had a swamp cooler. It was the middle of summer. The thought crossed my mind to just toss the loaf.
But it was all we had…
So I left it alone. Anyway, I was stressed to the max -it was easier to just “deal with it later” (“later” being when it had exchanged it’s bottom half for mold).
It wasn’t until 2 weeks after I had put the bread on the counter that I picked it up again.
My husband was gone to training and the kids had requested peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was the only bread we had.
Granted, I could have made homemade bread. I could have. But I didn’t really have the time, and anyone who makes and eats homemade bread knows that -while delicious -it does NOT make good sandwiches.
I reached for the bread. The bread that had been sitting under the influence of my swamp cooler for 2 weeks and on the counter at the grocery story for WHO knows how long and had taken a 4-hour car ride from the 100-plus-degree resort to my humid home.
I carefully untwisted the twistie-tie and peeked in.
And it was fine.
Fresh, even.
It made me smile. No bread had ever lasted that long on my counter -EVER. I couldn’t believe what I saw, and I pulled every slice of bread apart and checked over and over -certain I was missing something. There just HAD to be mold somewhere.
But there wasn’t. The bread lasted until we were paid again.
And do I know why? Yes, I do. If you pay tithing, you know too. You know what it’s like to have food just show up when you seem to have almost run out. You know what it’s like to find that check in the mail or that $20 in your pocket. You know what it’s like to open the bread bag to find it still fresh and feel what feels like a warm hug from the inside.
You know what it’s like to feel you’re taken care of… to know He’s aware… to know He knows.
He knows when you’re hurting.
He knows when you’re happy.
He knows when you’re hungry.
He knows when you’re trying.
He knows when you’re making ends meet.
He knows.
And He loves enough to bind your heart, make up the difference, even freshen your bread… because YOU matter.
Look around.
You’ll find your own miracles.
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