On Muffins and Manna
It’s been a day heavy-laiden with tears and upsets. Hurt feeling and clumsy injuries abound, and for a moment in the chaos, I want to run. But I don’t. Of course I don’t do that. Instead I find myself giving out more hugs than a usual Tuesday morning, more strokes and scratches on small backs. I am holding this one, while drying the eyes of that one, and all the while, the kitchen timer beeps incessantly in the background. Because when things get crazy, I bake.
When life rocks our boat hard, and we turn green from the wild up-and-down-side-to-side swishing, we reach for that comfort, that something to cling to, to make it better. Being in the kitchen eases the insanity. The rich smells of good things that envelops the house as I bake, calms children and invites conversation. “What are you making?” they will ask me.
“Can I help?” they inquire.
“Yes!, come help me!” I invite. And they scramble up onto chairs and share licks from bowls. And before I know it, the arguing has been replaced with hums of sweetness from sugared lips. They share and take turns, and show love in a way that takes my tired heart and squeezes tears up into my eyes. They join in group hugs and help each other clean when asked. All of this change of heart from the promise of goodness. The simple anticipation, that something tasty, something sweet, is coming to fill their tummies.
And All this time while I’m mixing and observing this, I am thinking about how Christ’s goodness comes and fills. How when life hits the skids and we want to bail out and run the other way, his promises come, perfect, and mysterious, filling and complete, manna.
He put you through hard times. He made you go hungry. Then he fed you with manna, something neither you nor your parents knew anything about, so you would learn that men and women don’t live by bread only; we live by every word that comes from God’s mouth. Deuteronomy 8:3