A jelly jar graces my end table today, filled with cranberry autumn-toned daisies and wispy-feather flowers of the field. A lovely surprise from a friend, left on my front porch…
Only last week, it held one single flower I’d given her. Full circle, it’s jewels overflow.
As in a beautiful moment of reflection described yesterday by Jennifer at God-Bumps and God-Incidences (Why It’s Safe To Let Go), I’m struck by two words. Hers were actually written before her on the pavement. Mine seem finger-painted on air. Hanging there, like a dramatic pause.
Sometimes abundance is but a cornucopia of doubt multiplying into fear. What ifs. How to’s. O, what am I going to do’s.
Hope stretches into waiting, waiting, waiting.
Trying. Trying. Trying.
Give me your loaves. Your fishes, He says. I will give you 12 basketsful and leftover booty…taken back from the devourer.
What are my loaves? I wonder.
My Words… He offers.
Words that promise me hope for my future, restoration double-fold, blessing instead of curse.
Fishes? I ponder.
First fruits of all blessings, He says.
I whisper my Word-based prayers like seed into His wounded open palms.
For so many on my heart who are sorrowing, feeling alone and empty – needing to drink from His Psalm 36 river of delights, feast on the abundance of His house, know and understand…with Him is the fountain of life. Discover Hope uncovered. Oh, if they only will!
For provision drought that needs living water and His directing course.
I look at seeds He places in my hands. Watch tiny fruit sprout.
I want to sow them into aching hearts. To know He has my own desperation in hand too. My eyes are on His right now, my hands cupped into His.
A small child, looking out across a sea of hungry, thirsty others, wondering what this little offering can do.
Before my eyes, He blesses… blesses…blesses…
Holding onto my hands.
Until…to my unsuspecting heart… it comes back to me. Overflowing. Renewing. Restoring.
In one way or another…
Twelve basketsful…and counting.
© Pam Depoyan
Of friendship. Of blessing fruit. Of sacrifice.
By His design, they must multiply.
I love God’s math.
If you are waiting for seeds to sprout, as I am, let’s trust together.
His water-into-wine multiplication is even now underway.
Cheryl’s Vine Challenge