I think my children believe that their dinner magically appears on the table each night.
Sure, they see me put noodles and sausage in my grocery cart. They watch me chop and mix, pour and stir. They smell the aroma of their favorite pasta. They hear me scurrying around the kitchen, pulling out plates and forks.
Yet without fail, they come into the kitchen halfway through my dinner prep complaining that they’re starving and asking for a snack. It’s as if they don’t expect a delicious meal to be handed to them that night.
They’ve witnessed me faithfully feed them dinner night after night (even if it’s just frozen chicken nuggets or macaroni and cheese), but somehow they still wonder if I’ll come through this time. Or, if I do, they worry it won’t be something they like, so they beg for ice cream instead. Sometimes their witching hour whining makes me want to throw off my apron and toss dinner in the trash.
But I don’t. I know they need to eat, and that their poor attitudes are often a result of empty stomachs and tired bodies. I endure the complaining and questioning (often with a less-than-gracious attitude myself) and put dinner on the table, which they (hopefully) devour.
Watching them rummage through the pantry while dinner simmers on the stove makes me want to cry—until I realize I often respond to my Father’s provision the same way.
He takes too long, or his answer isn’t what I wanted. He’s provided for my needs in the past, but I’m not sure if he’ll do it this time. Especially in this season of preparing to move across the country and to lead in a church plant, I have many needs.
How will I afford all the moving costs?
Will our house sell quickly?
How will our children adjust to the move?
I often try to figure out the answers to these questions, and more, myself. I make lists (and lists of my lists). I spend hours searching online. I lay in bed at night ruminating over worst-case scenarios.
Jesus meets these moments with both conviction and compassion. He reminds us that God feeds the birds of the air—more bountifully than any DoorDash meal or grocery delivery. God clothes the wildflowers of the field—more beautifully than the perfect Stitch Fix box. Sparrows don’t make five-year plans while they pluck worms. Lilies don’t check off lists as they draw nutrients through their roots. Yet their Creator faithfully provides everything they need.
In light of these truths, Jesus tells us, “So don’t worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them” (Matthew 6:31-32).
When I don’t acknowledge that every gift is from my Creator, I anxiously strive to provide for myself. This is how the world responds to the cares that burden us. Our culture tells us to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and provide for ourselves. If we don’t look out for ourselves, who will?
Jesus reminds us that, as daughters and sons of God, our heavenly Father will care for us.
I am an imperfect mother, yet I still manage to put some sort of meal on the table most nights despite my children’s whining and my own impatience. “How much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask him” (Matthew 7:11).
His good gifts might not be what I’d hope for (my children rarely love the broccoli I put on their plate), but he will always provide for my needs in his perfect timing.
I don’t know exactly where we’ll live in Washington, how we’ll travel there, or what will happen with our home in Alabama.
But I do know that my heavenly Father loves me, cares for me, and has provided for me time and time again.
Every once in a while, one of my children will pull up a stool next to me at the kitchen counter. They’ll ask to help shred cheese, stir pots, and set the table. Their stomachs will growl, but rather than cry with impatience, they’ll join me in making dinner. It rarely gets dinner on the table any faster—in fact, it usually slows things down—but somehow it makes the work more enjoyable.
In this season of waiting, the Lord is asking me to pull up a stool, to join him in his work, to watch as he sovereignly cares for my family and me. Jesus offers this as the alternative to my worrying, “But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be provided for you” (Matthew 6:33).
Rather than strive to work out everything in my own limited strength and knowledge, I can seek my limitless Father. I can abide in him by spending time with him, faithfully doing what he has given me to do today, and waiting patiently for his plans.
I don’t know what the Lord is cooking right now, but I know it will be exactly what I need.
I love how you tied in a simple everyday scenario with our walk with God.