Loaves and Fish
I've been thinking of the little boy with a lunch of five loaves and two fish. In a crowd of thousands, he's the only one with a lunch. Everyone ran so quickly to follow Jesus that they didn't think to pack any food. This boy's mom probably admonished him to make sure to eat when he felt hungry.
What kept him from snacking and eating it before? Had he been so engrossed in the storytelling that he forgot to eat? When the disciples were looking for food, did he try to hide it? Or did he suddenly remember that his mom had tucked it in his bag? Did he wonder what his mom would say if he didn't eat it? Or maybe he was supposed to deliver it to someone else and had gotten sidetracked by following Jesus. By now, his stomach was probably growling along with everyone else. He now had a decision to make; one that would determine history.
If that were me, I'm afraid I would have hung on to it. I would not have wanted to go hungry. Being concerned about pleasing others, I would not have wanted to disappoint my mom. Yet by hanging on to it, I would have missed out on seeing an amazing miracle. I would not have had the joy of seeing Jesus feed over 5,000 hungry men with my little lunch. I would not have experienced being so full that I couldn't eat another bite. Yet twelve baskets of leftovers were gathered afterwards, and they far exceeded what was started with.
I'm just now learning to live a life of generosity. Yet I'm still hanging on to "stuff" that I might need later. I have way more than I need or even want, yet feel tied to much of it by memories and connections. My basement has boxes that have not been opened recently, yet I'm still reluctant to part with much of it. Why am I emotionally tied to my "stuff"? Do I really think I will be lost without it?
Maybe it's time for me to open my fingers and release it. Maybe it's time for me to bless others with my extra. Maybe it's time to see how my giving can be a seed that can grow to meet the needs of others. Maybe it's time to experience how travelling lighter can be a blessing not only to myself but to others around me. Maybe even my time can be an asset that I can choose to give away to others. Time to open a box.
What kept him from snacking and eating it before? Had he been so engrossed in the storytelling that he forgot to eat? When the disciples were looking for food, did he try to hide it? Or did he suddenly remember that his mom had tucked it in his bag? Did he wonder what his mom would say if he didn't eat it? Or maybe he was supposed to deliver it to someone else and had gotten sidetracked by following Jesus. By now, his stomach was probably growling along with everyone else. He now had a decision to make; one that would determine history.
If that were me, I'm afraid I would have hung on to it. I would not have wanted to go hungry. Being concerned about pleasing others, I would not have wanted to disappoint my mom. Yet by hanging on to it, I would have missed out on seeing an amazing miracle. I would not have had the joy of seeing Jesus feed over 5,000 hungry men with my little lunch. I would not have experienced being so full that I couldn't eat another bite. Yet twelve baskets of leftovers were gathered afterwards, and they far exceeded what was started with.
I'm just now learning to live a life of generosity. Yet I'm still hanging on to "stuff" that I might need later. I have way more than I need or even want, yet feel tied to much of it by memories and connections. My basement has boxes that have not been opened recently, yet I'm still reluctant to part with much of it. Why am I emotionally tied to my "stuff"? Do I really think I will be lost without it?
Maybe it's time for me to open my fingers and release it. Maybe it's time for me to bless others with my extra. Maybe it's time to see how my giving can be a seed that can grow to meet the needs of others. Maybe it's time to experience how travelling lighter can be a blessing not only to myself but to others around me. Maybe even my time can be an asset that I can choose to give away to others. Time to open a box.
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