I opened the thick red folder and spread the pages across the kitchen counter. We had brought our adopted daughter home from the hospital just days before, and I felt like I was drowning. I flipped through the sheets—medical reports from her time in the NICU, referral letters for therapies, and legal forms that made no sense. My head fell into my hands as I tried to figure out where to start.
You can do this, Bethany, I told myself.
Yet try as I might, I never felt like I was doing enough. I struggled to find her specialty formula during a formula shortage—and struggled even more to feed her that formula. I exhausted myself managing all her specialist appointments and a toddler adjusting poorly to his big brotherhood. I spent hours researching transracial adoptions, afraid we would mess up and bring more trauma to her story.
God, we obeyed when we felt you calling us to adopt this sweet girl, I prayed. So why isn’t this any easier?
I was frustrated and overwhelmed, wondering why God wasn’t providing in the way I expected. I felt I lacked the knowledge, time, and patience to care for her—and the rest of my family! I feared I wouldn’t have enough of anything to make it through the next day.
Manna in the Wilderness
In this challenging season, I identified with the Israelites in the desert. God brought them out of Egyptian slavery and called them to be his chosen people. He led them with a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night to the promised land. Their sandals never wore out, and they drank water from a rock (Exodus 17:1-7; Numbers 20:1-13; Deuteronomy 29:5). Yet how did they respond to his faithful provision and presence? By questioning God when the journey was too hard.
Forty-five days after they had seen God part the Red Sea and destroy their Egyptian pursuers, the Israelites audaciously accused God of trying to starve them (Exodus 16:3). Despite their grumblings, God graciously provided them with supernatural nourishment in the form of bread from heaven. Six mornings a week, the Israelites walked out of their tents to a ground covered in manna— the perfect amount of food they would need for the day.
God had a purpose for this provision, though: “I am about to rain bread from heaven for you, and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion every day, that I may test them, whether they will walk in my law or not” (Exodus 16:4, emphasis mine).
God’s sustenance for his people required them to trust him. Each morning, they could only gather what they needed for that day. Anything left over would spoil. On the sixth day, they were to gather two days’ worth of manna so that they could rest on the Sabbath.
Unfortunately, some Israelites still didn’t believe God would do what he said he would. They didn’t trust he would provide enough for them, and their unbelief led to disobedience. “They did not listen to Moses. Some left part of [the manna] till the morning, and it bred worms and stank” (Exodus 16:20).
Like the Israelites, I sometimes don’t believe God has given me enough—enough sleep to serve my family, enough patience to discipline toddler tantrums, or enough wisdom to care for my adopted daughter. Instead of relying on God to supply my needs, I hoard my resources. I withhold grace from my children. I decline opportunities to serve my local church. I neglect time with my husband. I live with a scarcity mindset, worrying about my needs because I don’t trust the Lord to care for me.
When I forget God’s faithful provision, my attitude ends up stinking—just like the hoarded manna.
The Bread of Life
As Christians, we have a greater promise than bread from heaven that physically sustained the Israelites. We have the promise of union with the Son of God who sustains us spiritually. “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).
When teaching us how to pray, Jesus invites us to ask of our Heavenly Father, “Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11). Jesus commands us not to be anxious about what we will eat, drink, and wear, because “your heavenly Father knows that you need them all” (Matthew 6:32). Just as an earthly father wouldn’t give his son a stone when he needs bread, our Heavenly Father gives “good things to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:11).
Despite knowing God’s promises to nourish me, though, I awake morning after morning determined to do things in my own sufficiency. I muster up my own meager strength, rather than receiving strength in his presence. I grumble because God did not provide me with eight hours of sleep, uninterrupted time in the morning, or dishes that magically cleaned themselves overnight. His provision doesn’t look like what I want or expect. His provision requires my humble submission and dependence on him.
Often, God does grant us tangible blessings, but his primary answer to our prayers is always more of himself. It’s not merely a clear answer to a problem, but the wisdom of the Father. It’s not just more knowledge to ease anxiety, but the comfort of the Holy Spirit. It’s not only release from our trials, but closeness to the suffering Son. As he tried to show the Israelites, God doesn’t just want us to rely on him for our daily needs but to grow our trust in him.
Rather than despairing when we feel overwhelmed by responsibilities and decisions, we can rejoice in knowing God gives exactly what we need for today. “God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19). All he asks is that we daily depend on him and not ourselves.
We can pour out our lives—even in difficult seasons—and trust that the next day when we rise, God will again fill us. He has given us enough. Enough to serve our families. Enough to obey him. Enough to fulfill his callings on our lives.
When we feast on his presence, we don’t have to hunger for more.
This article was originally published at Risen Motherhood in October 2024.
Beautifully written reflection here, Bethany! Thank you for sharing your relatable honesty. Our God is so faithful to point us back to His Truth and to graciously offer us Himself, time and time again - even in the midst of our grumbles.