Numbers 11.
Tasting the sour on my lips as I try to dismiss the words I know are directed at me.
Because it's what you can become...the sour taste.
It's stirred by adversity, and it flows through a crowd of greedy desires.
It's when the rabble speaks out against the daily provisions they're not used to, and instead of defending the God who provides, you join in the song of the complaint: We remember what we had...the meat and the onions and the melons...and now there is nothing but this manna! The look of it alone was nasty, and I know the look. The provision put something in their stomach, bland as it was, and at the end of the day they could sleep without hunger. The manna sustained them as they rose each morning to another provision from a good God, but still they complained, and I am deeply convicted. As the not what I wanted song left their lips, I hear the same sounds coming from my empty of gratitude lips I often allow myself to wear. It's not that what He gave wasn't enough (at least then the song would be understandable), but it was what He gave did not meet with their greedy desires, and this is what stops me.
After all, when is my complaint ever for what I don't have, but always for what I don't like?
Have I ever sat with a total lack of nothing, crying out from a true place of suffering?
The sour words sit on the tongue:
They didn't like their too small house, or lack of another bedroom.
They despised their kitchen floor, and needing to be replaced windows.
They hated the old car their husband still has to drive, and they were embarrassed by their out-of-date bathroom.
They were tired of what was daily provided in their pantry, their refrigerator, and their small bank account.
They couldn't see the provision because they were overwhelmed by the want.
They had enough, but they didn't have what they wanted.
The sound of my words waft up into the heavens to the One who daily provides, and the Spirit leaves me completely undone:
Spirit of God, forgive my greedy heart. I sit at Your Thankful Table daily with such abundance, and yet I sometimes miss the provisions of it. But as I leave the table this morning, O Father, I will walk on the floor beneath my feet, passing by the open windows in the just-enough-size house, with a husband of 36 years and family who also eat from the pantry supplied by a bank account You continue to supply, and I will be overwhelmed by Your goodness to the one who often forgets to bend with gratitude and collect the manna You supply with joy.
