I have a plastic bin filled with beans hidden in my basement.
I packed that bin two years ago when I, like everyone else, worried about food supplies. I’ve borrowed from the bin a little, but if you need rice or dried beans, I’ve got you covered. I also have gallons of water in case “The Big One” they’re always predicting rocks the New Madrid Fault Line like it did in 1811. (I do not love living on top of this particular seismic zone.) I’m not a hoarder or a prepper, exactly, because that’s about all I’ve got stored away, but I regularly consider stocking up with today’s supplies to cover tomorrow’s potential emergency. There is wisdom in being prepared, but most of my decisions about potential looming disasters are made from fear, not wisdom. Maybe there won’t be enough of what I need tomorrow, so I’m going to worry about it today.
_______
“I don’t know how I’m going to make it through another two weeks of this,” I gasped to my husband between sobs. The ER nurse was unhooking my IV and blood pressure cuff. All we knew is what wasn’t wrong with me. The pain was intense; I couldn’t wrap my head around all the days on the calendar before I could follow up with a physician and get more tests. I put my fists to my eyes. I traced the vein standing out in the middle of my forehead. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.
But I did do it. Not because I have superhuman strength in my bones or deep wells of stoic longsuffering to draw from. Every morning, there was a fresh supply of mercy and grace to carry me through the day. Just that day. Just one single day at a time. No hoarding, no prepping, no stocking up for next week’s pain or next month’s doctor visit. When I told a close friend that I could only pray for God to sustain me today, she said to me, “Manna for today. The Lord will give you what you need.”
During their wilderness wanderings, the Israelites had to gather God’s provision each morning to sustain their bodies, but barring the Sabbath preparations, they couldn’t fill their pantries or hide a bin of manna in the basement. Stockpiled manna rotted and decayed, writhing with worms and mistrust in God’s care for them[1]. Carrying out a putrid mess of yesterday’s wormy manna from your tent was proof that you didn’t really trust the Lord to keep His word. There was something here for them to see: the Lord’s mercies were new every morning, and they could trust Him to supply what they needed. Every day that they opened their eyes to the morning desert sun, they had to trust that He would keep His word to sustain them again. It was a very literal exercise in growing their trust in God’s care for them.
“I’m frustrated for you,” someone said to me recently. “Countless people are praying for you, but we’re not seeing the answer we want.”
My heart sank a little. I don’t want my physical pain to water the seed of unbelief in anyone’s heart. Yet, I’ve had similar conversations with the Lord lately as I’ve vacillated between two different illnesses. I have spent more collective time in doctors’ offices, emergency rooms, and in bed than at my computer working over the last month. I’ve had an army of people praying for me, and if anyone understands the defeated feeling of unanswered prayer for my health, it’s me. And yet, there’s something in this daily gathering of mercy to endure that I cannot dismiss. God knows what I need, and I wonder if what I need more than His healing grace is His sustaining grace. I need to keep tipping up my chin toward His face to ask Him for what I know He will give: Himself. He carries me.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I told her. “But the Lord shows up when I’m weak. He gives the exact amount of grace I need when I need it. Not enough to borrow for tomorrow. Just enough for today. If He ever draws you into a situation like this, He will prove Himself faithful. I promise.”
I don’t know for sure why God withholds healing when He could easily dispense it. He must have something for me in suffering. Anything that keeps us on our faces before the Lord day and night must be something He is using for our good. There have been good days like yesterday when I took a walk and ate without pain and worked on my current manuscript with a clear mind. But there have been many bad days when I don’t leave the couch all day and sip the least offensive liquids I can find. The trouble is, though I am making gradual improvements and some normalcy has returned, I can’t predict what kind of day I’m going to have, so every morning when I open my eyes to the Missouri sun, I look for the daily supply of God’s mercy. The manna is always there, but I have to pray for eyes to see it.
Sometimes today’s mercy looks like a good day with minimal pain. Sometimes it’s knowing I’m being upheld by the prayers of the saints to endure the day. Sometimes the mercy is in the care I receive from the body of Christ. Sometimes it’s in my husband’s insistence that I rest or my son’s prayer for me to feel better. Sometimes, the manna is found when others help me look for it. It’s always there if you have eyes to see it.
I am coming to terms with the fact that life with an incurable disease will ebb and flow between seasons of healing and seasons of illness. What I really want is full trust in God’s daily provision of grace. I want it to be enough. I want Him to be enough. I know that He is, but sometimes I go to bed at night wondering if the manna will be there when I wake up. My outer self is wasting away—I feel the fragility of my flesh. But inside, He is renewing me day by day, proving that He will sustain me until I see Him.[2] If it’s in suffering that He chooses to prove Himself faithful, then that will be enough for today. He is always there.
God knows what I need, and I wonder if what I need more than His healing grace is His sustaining grace. Share on X
*Whenever I write about my health, I get numerous emails with thoughtful suggestions for remedies. I’m under the care of several health professionals and in good hands, so rather than sending recommendations, I’d love it if you’d pray for me instead. I treasure your prayers more than words can say!
Photo by Andrea Scully on Unsplash
[1] See Exodus 16
[2] See 2 Cor. 4:16-18
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
[…] If it’s in suffering that He chooses to proof Himself faithful, then that will be enough for today. He is always there. — Read on http://www.glennamarshall.com/2022/03/18/the-manna-is-always-there/ […]