When Food Falls from the Sky

Nearly nine months ago, we acquired a new member of our small family, Bibi, a dachshund cross with a bit of sass in her step. She’s a small dog whose main loves include everyone else’s personal space, walking along the river, and meeting new dogs. One habit we’re trying to break is her desire to eat whatever tasty thing she finds in the street. Living in the city means all sorts of things lie dormant in the cracks until a wet-nosed dachshund prances across them. I don’t know where she thinks these things suddenly appear from, but it never crosses her mind that it’s not hers and might not be good for her.

However, as a grown woman with a full pantry at home, if I stumble across food on the street, I know better than to pick it up. Two main things come to mind: 1. That food was not meant for me, no matter how tasty it looks, and 2. I have the ability to either buy or make it for myself when and if I choose.

But what would happen if I couldn’t buy or make it, and I stumbled across it on the street? What would happen if I was starving and hadn’t had a meal for a while? I would probably look around to make sure there was no distracted owner nearby. And after noting that no one was around, I would probably pick it up, grateful for the providence, much like Bibi.

I think it’s been harder to do that with my life.

Glyn and I have been here in Budapest, Hungary, for three years now, and one of the biggest challenges has been for our family to go from a very certain workday to something a little more, shall we say, flexible. Even though we had both been self-employed, there was something about going out at a certain time, doing certain jobs, and then coming home. This season in missions has had only a small amount of that for me and absolutely none of that clarity for Glyn.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve never been lacking things to do. We have jobs and projects, but they’ve all been very short-lived with no promise of what is to come at the end of them.

And so, when our region went through a big upheaval in January, one side effect was that we were freed up to start looking around the region at places that offered more long-term projects, especially for Glyn. I mean, if it’s going to give our life a little more stability, shouldn’t we at least consider it? And so we did. It was 90% likely that we would end up shifting somewhere that had something a bit more established. So we prayed and fasted and brought it before God.

But God didn’t say a thing.

I’m going to be really honest here and mention how frustrated I got that God, who seems to speak when I least want Him to, was once again very quiet when I needed Him to be loud. It’s happened before at other pivotal moments, so I waited. The thing is, I don’t believe God stops talking. I think He’s speaking right now. But the noise of life and the voices in our head get in the way, and His whisper goes unheard.

Slowly, over the past few months, there were moments of clarity where I felt like God was speaking, and I was finally able to hear.

And today, it started coming together when I was reminded of the Jews wandering in the desert. I was reminded of the home that those people had to leave. It was a home provided by God, but it was not the place they were to stay. I was reminded of the great shift that had to happen to allow them to leave and the body of water they had to pass through. I was reminded of Elim, that first great oasis in the desert. I was reminded of the provision of water God brought out from the rock of Horeb. I was reminded of how quickly the people crafted an idol, probably something familiar, something to make an unseen God just that little bit more visible, and how God was jealous but still showed mercy. I was reminded of bread falling from heaven, just enough to sustain them for the day. Not too little, not too much.

I was able to see clearly the path God had put us on, how Elim was and continues to be an oasis for us, how Horeb continues to be a place of provision for us, but especially for Glyn. And most of all, how God is providing just enough bread to get us through each day.

I’m not saying that Budapest is a desert, but this is the place where God has led us, and there is work to do, both here and in my heart. And all the while, God is providing for us. There are jobs to do; they just don’t look like anything we’ve ever had before. Here we are, looking at food on the ground. I have been a little snobby, thinking I have a pantry at home; I have skills and abilities that would easily provide for our family. But we’re here, in this place, looking at this food on the ground, and I am in need.

So I pick it up, grateful for the provision, knowing that even though Egypt is behind and the promise of heaven is before me, in this moment, I have been called here to this place, and God is still providing. And God will continue to provide.