A sea of thousands, all ages, all sorts of people seated on the grass around you spreading down the sides of the hill where you stood and spilling into the field below.

They came from all over to see you and hear you teach, hanging on your every word, captivated, not wanting to leave. Now it’s been three days! The problem is: they didn’t bring enough food for three days.

Your disciples could see the need as they scanned the crowd, but must have felt completely perplexed and inadequate when they heard you say:

“Give them something to eat.”

“With what? Our good intentions?”
“We could never have enough money to buy food for all of them!”

“Bring me what you have.”

What they found was enough for one person’s meal.

But in your hands, it became more than enough for thousands!

This story has come to mind several times in the last month or so. I look at the faces of people I love and see needs—situations I find myself in that can be overwhelming.

“Go ahead,” you say as you nudge me, “Serve them. Help them.”

“How? I’m not prepared.”
“I have no idea what to do.”
or
“With what? I’m so tired.”

“Bring me what you have.”

“Even if it’s nothing?”

“Bring me what you have.”

I stop looking down at empty hands and empty pockets in fear and doubt and instead look up at You. Amazingly, Your gaze seems full of love and understanding, not frustration or impatience. I remember You, Jesus…

You, who created the whole universe from nothing with just a word.

You, King of kings, radiant in power and glory, the beginning and the end, the Way, Truth, and Life, High and lifted up. Everything was made for You and belongs to You.

You, merciful, loving Father, self-sacrificing Son, powerful and mysterious Holy Spirit, three in one.

You, born as a baby on this dusty planet, on purpose. Growing up into a humble, magnetic, sought-after man who walked with people, teaching, healing, and forgiving. They had no idea who they really had with them, what you really could do and were doing, how you were providing in ways they couldn’t comprehend.

You, who somehow made that one lunch of bread and fish become an overflowing feast for multitudes.

You, who sacrificed your life in excruciating suffering so we could be made right with God. You made the way to know grace, real lasting, abundant life and love, when there was no other way.

I remember you, Jesus.

You’ve been showing me glimpses of what You can do. Scratching the surface, I know. You’ve provided answers and orchestrated conversations, people encounters, and timelines as I never could have. You’ve helped my heart shift gears from feeling weary and wanting to withdraw to worship, quieting peace, and love for others that definitely does not come from within me. Thank you, God.

It must hurt you that I have to be reminded of this over and over again. It’s not because You haven’t proven Yourself faithful and amazing, the ultimate provider. It’s because I forget. I am short-sighted and so easily prone to looking down at my emptiness or inadequacy instead of straining to keep my head up, eyes locked on You, Shepherd, Savior, Teacher, Miracle Maker.

Here’s what I have. It’s barely anything.

I know You will provide, and something good is going to happen when it’s in Your hands.